


Down to our bare feet

by frenchkiss



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Chronic Illness, Disability, Disabled Character, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Oral Sex, Paralysis, Wheelchairs, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 20:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 71,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16562297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchkiss/pseuds/frenchkiss
Summary: Breaking his neck and becoming wheelchair-bound for the rest of his life was never part of Louis Tomlinson's long term plan. No, he was going to make it big in his career, marry the man of his dreams, and live his best life each and every day. That is, until a football injury leaves him paralysed from the neck down, which is less than ideal, he must admit.The story of an ordinary couple living through extraordinary circumstances, featuring wheelchairs, home renovations, intensive rehab, fighting, laughter, tears, ring shopping, and above all, two boys determined to love each other no matter what.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> W O W OKAY.
> 
> This fic has been a work in progress for almost a year now, but I wanted to make sure I got it so so right. It deals with some heavy themes and I wanted to make sure that I handled it with the upmost respect, dignity and knowledge as I could. 
> 
> A quick disclaimer: I am able-bodied and have never personally suffered with any of the issues portrayed within this fic, but I have worked in close proximity with many paralysed people as part of my job for a couple of years now and Louis's injuries and experience with his paralysis are taken from the experiences of several people that I've worked with in the past. He is not based off one example, hence the tag for medical inaccuracies. I have also done crazy amounts of research into this so I hope I have everything as true to real life as possible, while also treating the characters with the dignity and respect that they deserve!!
> 
> Any questions comments or... literally anything honestly I am dying to hear what you readers have to say because this fic has become my baby and I hope you love it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!
> 
> A million and one thank yous to Amber @fnlau for being the most supportive cheerleader!!!!!!
> 
> Love always, E xx

**_Local Football Star Who Broke His Neck In Freak Accident Will Not To Let It Break Him and Is Determined To Walk Again_ **

_Louis Tomlinson was 22 and playing in his usual Thursday five-a-side football match when he was tackled and fell, resulting in a broken neck._

_His life changed in an instant, Louis spent the following seven months in hospital, undergoing multiple surgeries and treatments after being told he would never walk again._

_But even after the diagnosis of paralysis was given, the determined young lad has fought to remain in high spirits and vows that he will not be confined to a wheelchair forever._

_Before his injury, Louis, now 25, was a keen football player and worked at a bustling graphic design agency in the city._

_Now he works from home and spends his time focusing on his recovery. He has physiotherapy sessions three times a week at home and trains with weights in order to maintain his fitness._

_The local community rallied around him and several fundraisers have been held in his name. With the money raised he has been able to pay for specialist treatments and a custom car with extra space for his wheelchair._

_He and his partner of eight years, Harry (23) were also able to renovate their bungalow home to accommodate Louis’s wheelchair, including converting the bathroom to a wet room and lowering the counters in the kitchen._

_Every time we speak to Louis he seems in good spirits and this time was no exception. “I feel like I’ve come such a long way since my accident. The first year was the worst but now I’ve realised that I can still live a good life even in a chair, I’m feeling more positive than ever.”_

_“My family, boyfriend and friends are always happy to help and I’m still able to do a lot of the stuff I loved doing before, I just need a hand to do it!”_

_“The support from everyone has been nothing but incredible and I’m so grateful for everyone who has donated or shared my GoFundMe page, because without you I wouldn’t be able to be as independent.”_

_Louis is hoping to travel to America next year to a centre in Florida, where he would take part in an intensive physiotherapy course that would see him use a special machine to walk - a dream that he’s never let go of._

_“The road to recovery is one I’ll be on for the rest of my life, but I’ve never lost faith in myself and my ability to get better,” Louis says._

_“Being able to walk again, even for just a few steps, would be an absolute dream come true.”_

_“It seems like such a trivial thing, but it’s something you don’t realise you take for granted and just the idea of it makes me so excited!”_

_If you would like to donate to Louis’s GoFundMe, then you can by following this link:_ [ _https://bit.ly/2SXL7iw_ ](https://bit.ly/2SXL7iw)

  


"Lou. Lou. Louis."

Louis stirs, blinking a few times before he finally wakes properly. The room is still dark but he can make out Harry's silhouette, his sharp eyes and his hairline, his chiselled jawline and his dopey, familiar grin, and he smiles warmly. Harry is so beautiful in the early morning, and Louis feels lucky every single day that he still gets to wake up beside him.

And then he spasms, his whole body going taut and stopping him right in his tracks. He hisses and scrunches up his face as he rides it out, grateful when Harry grabs his hand and lets him squeeze it for the duration. “ _Fuck.”_

“You okay, love?” Harry questions, and when Louis opens his eyes he sees his face has gone from smiling and brilliant to tight with worry. His spasms are unpredictable and always unpleasant, but they’re not dangerous nor do they typically last a long time, thank god. But Harry worries, worries, he always worries.

“I’m fine,” he grits out, then seconds later he goes lax again. It lasted barely 15 seconds this time, which is not as bad as it can be. “That one wasn’t too bad, to be fair.”

Harry leans down and kisses his forehead. “Okay,” he says softly. “Sorry I woke you anyway. I wouldn’t normally because I know you’re not working this week, but Claire just rang and asked if she could come at 10, not 12, so she’ll be here soon.”

Louis hums an affirmation and fumbles for the bed remote, using his knuckle to raise the bed up. It wasn’t cheap, but recently they’ve been able to invest in a double bed-frame that can be moved up and down using a remote, not dissimilar to a hospital bed, and he can be raised from lying down flat to sat upright at the press of a button. “Cool, that’s cool,” he mumbles through his yawn. “Can you sort me out?”

“Yeah, you wanna get up now? It’s only just past 9.”

“Yeah, may as well,” Louis nods, then holds out his arms for Harry to pull off his sleep shirt. It’s only then that he realises that Harry’s still basically naked himself, dressed in nothing more than a pair of basketball shorts, slung so low on his hips that Louis can see his pubic hair. “Give you time to put your dick away and all.”

Harry pinches his nipple playfully, and they tousle and banter back and forth as Harry helps him dress and then transfer from the bed into his wheelchair. Louis then wheels himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth and sort out his hair, and when he’s done in there he wheels himself back through to find Harry dressed and ready to go.

“Can you make me a tea please, my sweet?”

“I can make you anything you like,” Harry offers, using his shoulder to push open their bedroom door, even though now they’ve had power buttons installed so Louis can get into every room in the house without assistance. But this is typical Harry, ever the gentleman even before Louis needed a little more help with things. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Louis mulls it over as he rolls down the hall towards their kitchen and living area. “Yeah, I suppose I’d better if I’ve got physio.” He beats Harry to the door, and he sticks out his tongue as Harry rolls his eyes and moves to pull it open anyway. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I had a coffee,” says Harry, moving towards the kitchen as Louis rolls into the lounge. “I hadn’t long come back from the gym when Claire rang, to be fair.”

Louis hums and grabs the remote off one of the low tables, turning on the telly. Jeremy Kyle springs into life on the screen, and he finds himself yawning again before he asks, “Have you got the time to make bacon sarnies, do you reckon?”

“Sure thing, babycakes,” Harry says, already pottering around the kitchen. He sets the dishwasher going before he pulls out a frying pan, and Louis finds himself wheeling back over after only a couple of minutes. They make light chat over the sizzle and the crackle of the bacon, then Harry sets to work slicing the bread and buttering it before he pours them both an orange juice.

Louis isn’t really allowed to help out in the kitchen anymore because his injury has played havoc with how his body feels heat, so there’s always a worry he could burn himself and not even realise. However, all the counters and the drawers have been lowered so he can at least hoick out the cutlery and make a good go of setting the table, so that’s exactly what he does.

(They both use their hands to eat their sandwiches. Neither of them comment on this.)

It doesn’t take either of them long to eat, so once they’ve finished up Harry carries both their empty plates over to the sink, not bothering to wash them yet. “Shall I set up in here?”

“Yeah, please,” Louis says, rolling over to the cupboard in the corner where they keep the bulk of his physio gear. “Can you help me roll out my mat and get the weights from the back of the cupboard? I want to do arms today, I think.”

Harry nods and squeezes past Louis to grab the practical Aldi carrier bag they keep Louis’s weights and various other physio equipment and pulls it out before he grabs the yoga mat that Louis likes to lie on for his sessions. Louis reverses and moves himself out the way as Harry unrolls the mat onto the floor and then sets out Louis’s weights onto the sofa arm, before he heads over to the kettle and flicks it on. “What’s the time, babe?”

“9:59,” Louis says, checking on the screen of his iPhone that stays almost permanently nestled between his thighs so he can access it when he needs to. “She’ll be here any minute then.”

“Do you want another cuppa?” Harry asks over the sound of the kettle. “I’m making one for Claire as usual, so speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Nah, I best leave it,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t want to need a wee halfway through the session, that’d be a pain in the arse if ever there was one.”

The sessions Louis has with Claire vary week to week, but this week it’s one session at home and then two sessions at one of the gyms in town. His at home sessions usually consist of weight training, stretches and massages under Claire’s careful guidance, and he’s grateful for them because his body really, really needs it. And while Harry is great and has picked up tips and tricks along the way, he’s just not as good as massages and stretches as Claire is, bless him, so he really looks forward to their sessions.

As if summoned by Louis’s thoughts, the doorbells rings. Harry scoots off to answer it and comes back a few seconds later with Claire in tow, who beams when she sees him and rushes forward to give him a hug. “Hi, darling!”

“Hey, love,” Louis grins. “How’s things?”

“Things are good,” she nods, leaning back against the fridge and smirking between the pair of them. “And how are my boys?”

“I’m good, and I think Harry’s alright,” Louis says, sticking out his tongue at his boyfriend when he rolls his eyes. “What? You are alright, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’m tip top,” Harry grins, shaking his head so his hair flies all over his shoulders. “Just a bit sleepy, that’s all, but what’s new?”

Claire snorts. “You pair,” she says fondly. “Shall we have a quick cuppa and we’ll talk about what we wanna do today?”

Harry moves over to the kettle, squeezing Louis’s shoulder as he goes, and pops two teabags into empty mugs. Louis wheels himself over to the sofas and Claire follows, catching him up on one of her other clients that Louis has met a time or two through his physio gym in town. He’s laughing when Harry toddles over with three mugs precariously balances in his grasp - a tea each for Louis and Claire, Louis’s with a metal straw, and a strong smelling black coffee for Harry.

“You’re a good boy,” Claire says as she takes the tea from him, taking a hearty swig. Louis sips his slowly through the straw, shooting Harry a look because he didn’t want another tea, he really didn’t, but Harry makes the best tea in the world and he can only be a little mad about that. “Mmmm, delicious as always, Harry.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, smirk evident in his voice. He’s avoiding looking at Louis and they both know it. “Do you want anything else while you’re here, Claire? Some toast or anything?”

Claire catches Louis’s eye and they both chuckle as she shakes her head. “I know I’m early but it’s not that early,” she says. “Thanks, Harry, but I’m alright.” She turns to Louis. “Does he always try and overfeed you too?”

“ _Hey.”_

“Every day,” Louis says sombrely, holding out his hand for Harry to take. Harry pouts. “It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

“I just don’t want anyone to go hungry,” Harry grumbles. “And I know what you in particular are like when you’re hungry, so I try and steer clear of that wrath.”

“I’m a growing lad,” Louis tells him sternly. “I need lots of food or I’ll waste away. It’s a tough job sitting on your arse all day, you know.”

“You know, my mother always said never work with children or animals,” Claire cuts in. “And you are two of the biggest man children I’ve ever come across.” She sets her mug on the coffee table. “Now shall we do some actual physio?”

“We probably should, shouldn't we?” Louis pretends to ponder, then moves to undo his leg strap. His legs can often spasm from disuse so to be on the safe side he keeps them strapped down, because if he has a big one and there’s nobody around he could run the risk of falling out of his chair. “Did you have anything in mind to do today?”

“That depends, as always,” Claire says, getting to her feet. “Any particular pain or discomfort this week? Anything you want us to work on?”

“It’s always that knot in the back of my bloody leg,” Louis says, sitting back in his chair and letting his legs move up of their own accord, tight and stiff even after only an hour or so in their confines, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “I feel like it’s getting worse.”

Claire nods. “Do you want to transfer to the sofa or the yoga mat?”

“Yoga mat,” Louis tells her. “I find it easier to sprawl on the floor when my legs need doing.”

“Sure,” says Claire. “Harry, can you do the honours?”

Harry nods before he shuffles over to Louis, tucking a strong arm under the backs of his knees as Louis winds his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry lifts him across the room easily and crouches so he can set him down onto the mat. It’s something they’ve done countless times at this point but Louis really does marvel at the way that Harry seems to be more confident in doing it each time, how much stronger it feels like he’s getting, and how much he doesn’t mind it at all anymore.

Now he’s sat on the floor, legs sprawled uselessly in front of him. Harry grabs one of the pillows from the sofa and tucks it behind him so if he does end up toppling backwards it won’t be quite so painful. Claire sits herself opposite him on the floor, legs crossed, and drags Louis’s problem leg into her lap where she gives it a squeeze.

“This the one that’s giving you grief?”

“Yep,” Louis moans, twitching a little as Claire’s fingers work to loosen the tightness in his muscles. “Ooh, _fuck._ Yeah, it’s that bit there. _Shit._ ”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Claire sniggers, deft fingers still working away. “Hey, can you flip over for me?”

Louis hums and nods, letting himself fall back against the pillow before using his elbows (and only a little help from Claire) to roll himself over onto his tummy. She works on his legs for a little longer, working a few of the knots out and flexing his toes in her hands, and it’s so relaxing and enjoyable that he almost finds himself dozing off.

Almost.

“Oh, hell no,” her voice cuts through his stupor, and he opens his eyes to find Harry’s face pressed right into his. He’s laughing at Louis, the dickhead, and when he blinks himself back to life properly he sees Claire isn’t even by his legs anymore. She’s on her knees beside him, just behind Harry, arms akimbo. “You can’t fall asleep during a session, Louis! We’ve barely even started.”

Louis groans, pushing Harry’s face away weakly. “He’s not the only one who’s tired, alright?”

“Just means I need to push you harder, I think,” she tells him sternly, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “If it’s your legs that are giving you an issue then that’s what we’ll focus on today. Come on, stop glaring at me. Harry, can you help him sit back up a second?”

“Hello, darling,” Harry says cheerily, sliding an arm under Louis’s shoulders and taking the brunt of his weight as he sits upright. Louis grumps and groans and protests but they all know it’s only in jest and within a couple of minutes he’s woken back up enough to allow Claire to start bending his leg up to his chest, stretching out the muscle even more.

For the next hour and a half, Claire leads him through a variety of exercises for his thighs, his calves and his ankles. It’s exhausting and it’s both physically and mentally draining and by the end of it he’s ready for an actual nap. He’s a little sweaty and a lot thirsty, and when Claire finally calls it a day he collapses back onto the pillow again, his leg kicking weakly against her knee.

“I think you broke them even more.”

“Oh, shut up you,” she chastises gently. “If the work I’m doing is enough to send you to sleep then it’s not going to help you in the long term, is it?”

“We really do appreciate your time and help, Claire,” Harry chimes in, ever the diplomat. “Do you want another cup of tea before you go?”

“No, I need to rush off actually, loves; my next lad is on the other side of town so I’d better get on.” She leans down to give Louis a quick hug from where he’s still lying on the mat, panting but not as heavily as he was a few minutes ago. “See you on Friday, yeah? No need to follow me to the door, I know my way out by now.” She scoops up her bag. “Bye boys, have a nice nap!”

Harry waves her off and then toddles back over to Louis, dropping down onto the floor and sitting cross-legged beside him, using the sleeve of his hoodie to mop some of the sweat from Louis’s brow.

“Can’t believe you fell asleep in the middle of physio, you little bugger.”

“Yes, alright, asshole,” Louis says, sticking out his tongue. “Now, can you lift me up please and take me to our actual bed?”

“Can I or will I?” Harry titters, bending down even further and sticking his face right close to Louis’s.

“Ha ha ha,” Louis says dryly before he waves a fist at Harry, his fingers twitching weakly as he tries and fails to uncurl them. “And can you guess which finger I’m holding up?”

Harry plants a hand each side of Louis’s head, knees each side of Louis’s hips. “Oh, I can hazard a good fucking guess,” he mumbles, then attaches his mouth to Louis’s neck, sucking lightly (and then suddenly not so lightly). “And the thing is, baby, I could pick you up and we could go and take a nap, or I could eat you out on the living floor instead, how does that sound?”

And Louis might be limited in his movement these days, but his body never stopped reacting to Harry’s touches, and he’s still only a man.

It’s a wonder they ever manage to get anything done, _honestly._

*

Louis was only 22 when he had the accident that would change his life forever.

As someone who had played 5-a-side football every Thursday night for pretty much his entire adult life, Louis felt at home on the pitch. He’d been playing the beautiful game since he was a toddler and while perhaps not the strongest player out there, he was dedicated, quick on his feet and had a knowledge of the sport unlike the other members of his team. He was captain of the team in secondary school, vice captain of his 5-a-side team, and he really, truly never thought he’d ever stop playing.

It’s almost ironic to him, really, that the thing he loved so much ended up being what hurt him the most. He’s broken his ankle twice, fractured his fibula four times, and he’d even thrown up on the pitch once or twice out of exhaustion and dehydration.

All of that stuff seems relatively insignificant now given that all those injuries, though they felt monumental at the time, were basically nothing. None of them altered his life, none of them lasted more than a few weeks, and he was able to get back on the pitch like nothing had ever happened.

Until the day he tried to tackle a player on the other team, tripped and fell harder than he’d ever fallen before, and just never got back up again.

No, he definitely didn’t see _that_ ever happening.

He was rushed to hospital and immediately into surgery, but he can’t remember any of it. He can’t remember a single thing from after the accident, except lying there on the grass and trying to stand, only to realise he couldn’t stand, and not because he was in too much pain.

He literally, physically couldn’t.

After that it’s a total blur. He remembers being in hospital, lying in a bed that was too small in a ward that was too loud. He remembers everyone speaking to him like he was a child again, but he wasn’t able to get his thoughts out or ask for help or pain relief or anything because he couldn’t speak. Or wouldn’t speak. He still isn’t sure which of the two it was.

Because when the doctor came in and told Louis about what had happened and about what he could expect from his injuries, he had almost wanted to end it there and then.

_Paralysed._

Specifically, the break in his neck meant the use of his legs, torso, arms and hands were all compromised. He would no longer be able to walk, run, stand up, dance or play football again, nor would he be able to do… well, at the time it seemed like he’d never be able to do anything ever again. He was going to have to use a wheelchair, undergo extensive treatment and physiotherapy, and had to have several operations before he was even allowed to go home.

Harry was there, of course, and his mum was there and so was the rest of his extended family and his best friends, milling in and out and coming to visit when they could. Everyone wanted to see him and speak with him, but when they did it was all the same. They’d say his name, tilt their head to one side and ask _“so how are you feeling?”_ and it drove him fucking crazy.

He didn’t want to be pitied or babied, for fuck’s sake. He wanted them to tell him he was going to be okay, that this was all some weird and fucked up prank and he was going to wake up the following day right as rain again. This wasn’t his life, this _couldn’t_ be his life; this accident was the kind of thing that happened to other people, but not to people like him.

But that didn’t happen.

Louis will never, ever forget the way Harry cried that day. He will never admit to this, not for all the money in the world, but he lay there pretending to be asleep, nerves and guilt and a thousand other exhausting emotions seeping through him like poison, as Harry sat on the other side of the ward and cried into Lottie’s arms for what felt like hours. And he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t offered comfort of any kind, because what comfort could he offer when he was the reason Harry was crying like that in the first place?

Harry was only a baby, just 20 years old, and suddenly Louis realised how much he’d upended the lives of everyone else around him, but mostly Harry’s. They’d only been living together for six months at this point, still learning how to work dinner in the evenings and laundry and trips to Tesco into their busy schedule. And now they would have to swap all that out to learn how to live… well, like this.

He’d tried to end it with him the next day.

“Are you fucking serious?” Harry had spat at him, cheeks flaming red and eyes pouring with fresh tears. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ try this. You’re a _fucking_ idiot if you think you can just… it’s been three fucking _days,_ Louis, and you’ve not said a fucking word to me or anyone and now… now…”

“Harry,” Louis had forced out, voice croaky and dry from lack of use. He wasn’t far off tears himself. “This is… I can’t ask you to stay with me now, I just can’t.” He hated the fact that he couldn’t even hold his hand at the point, his useless fingers just curled into a fist that he couldn’t uncurl, taunting him. “I won’t be angry if you walk away now, I swear. I’ll get why you’re doing… why you want to stay but I… I think you… you should think about it.”

“Too fucking bad, Louis,” Harry had snapped, running a shaky hand through his limp, greasy hair. He hadn’t been home since that Thursday night and Louis wouldn’t be surprised if he found out he hadn’t slept in that time either. “Too fucking bad. I’m fucking staying and I’m not…” And he hadn’t said anything else on the matter because he was suddenly crying too hard to speak. He stood up and stormed out the room, then came back a few hours later with the doctor and carried on like that conversation had never happened.

And he’s still here, three years and four months on.

Over the next few weeks Louis worked with doctors, nurses, physiotherapists and surgeons to get to grips with and manage his injuries. And they boiled down to this.

An incomplete fracture to his C6 Vertebrae, which resulted in paralysis from his torso down, as well as paralysis in his hands and fingers. While still able to maintain some movement in his elbows, wrists, shoulders and neck, the rest of his body just didn’t respond when he tried to move them, and he tried _fucking_ hard. And on top of that, he would also now suffer with an inability to control bladder and bowel movements, his body would struggle to regulate its temperature, and spasms would occur sporadically.

Fucking fantastic.

He’s learnt how to live with it though. Three years and four months have passed, and he’s seven surgeries in and Louis thinks he’s doing better than ever, given the fact that he was ready to give it all up. He hadn’t seen a way to live like this, but now he’s almost okay with it. Well, maybe not _okay_ with it, because there are days when it hits him harder than others and days when he gets so _angry_ that he can barely function, but he’s better than he’s ever been.

His health is at its peak and he’s stronger than ever, working out four times a week with Claire, his physio, who helps him work weights and stretch his tight limbs and keep his body functioning as best it can while it’s stuck sitting down all the time. He still needs round the clock care and probably will for the rest of his life, but that’s okay. He’s come to terms with that too.

They’ve had to start their days pretty much identically since Louis came home from hospital permanently, which was just over two years ago now. Every other day, their alarm goes off at half past seven on the dot and they both grumble and groan and stay pressed close until Harry’s phone rings, letting them know that their private nurse is 15 minutes away. Harry gets up, goes for a wee himself, then helps Louis remove the urine bag. He helps Louis into his shower chair and then sits himself on the bed, lifting Louis’s legs onto his lap so he can knead at his legs, working out any of the kinks and knots in them until the nurse arrives to help Louis go to the toilet.

The worst bit about his injury, hands down, is the fact that now his boyfriend has to wipe his arse for him.

Realistically he knows he should be over it by now. He’s been with Harry for eight years, and five of those years were before his accident anyway. Harry’s fingered him more times than he’ll ever be able to count, has fucked him and rimmed him and even licked his own cum out of Louis’s arse, but this... is such a completely different setting, such a completely different kind of feeling, that it almost feels alien still, having Harry’s hand perform such a private task when it should be his own.

He’s never voiced that out loud, though. He lets himself burn with his own private humiliation every single day, but he would rather die than voice it out loud. And if Harry has any idea, well, then he doesn’t voice it either.

That seems easier, somehow.

After that, Louis showers, Harry stood behind him to wash his back and his feet and the fiddly little bits of him that he can’t do himself. When the nurse used to shower him he’d keep a flannel over his crotch, but now it’s with Harry he doesn’t really care, lets himself hang free and open like you should be able to when you’re having a wash. Harry tends to strips himself down too and they’ll shower together, which is enjoyable and intimate enough for Louis to feel better, any lingering embarrassment wearing off when he watches Harry wash himself in front of him too.

After that, Louis will roll back to their bed and Harry will help him back on to it, because they’ve both found it to be easier for Louis to put his boxers and trousers on if he’s lying down. Harry then helps him transfer into his wheelchair, then helps him put on a shirt or a hoodie, then once he’s dressed himself they go for breakfast.

They used to live in a top floor apartment, but that stopped being an option the second they realised that Louis was going to be confined to a chair. Luckily for them, they’d been saving for a bigger place anyway, so with what they already had and some help from some friends and family, they were able to convert Harry’s stepdad’s bungalow into a fully accessible house for them. The kitchen worktops were lowered, the bathroom was turned into a wet room with a walk-in shower and plenty of space for Louis’s shower chair, and they were even able to take it from a four-bedroom down to a three, knocking through a wall to make their master bedroom massive, with space for Louis to move around in while still keeping all their original furniture. It was a project, but Louis has never been more grateful for anything in his life.

Thanks to countless donations and the generosity of more people than Louis will ever be able to comprehend they were able to get brand new furniture, including this new custom bed that could be raised and lowered as well as sofas big enough for Louis to both sit and lie on, depending on how much his legs are aching that day. They got a mini fridge that sits next to the big fridge that holds all Louis’s cans of Coke and favourite snacks so he can grab them himself when Harry’s not around, as well as revamping the second biggest bedroom into an office with custom-built desks for Louis to use to work from home. It’s big and it’s brilliant, and Louis does love his work space, even though sometimes he does pine to be back in the office, bantering with the boys and going for drinks straight from work on a weeknight even though he knew he shouldn’t.

But working from home has its benefits too, and sometimes they outweigh the nostalgias. When he worked in an office he didn’t get a lie-in three times a week, nor did he get to cuddle his boyfriend whenever he felt like it. Here he gets to have mates over whenever he wants and nobody can tell him he can’t watch all three Lord of the Rings films starting at 11am on a Tuesday morning because he _is_ doing his work while he watches it (kind of). He can do his work in his pyjamas and order Chinese and then fuck work off for a bit because he’s bored or tired or wants a break.

He gets to pretty much run his own life now, make his own schedules and plan his own days and be a freer man, even if he’s lost that freedom in another respect. But even though that _sucks,_ he gets to see his family more now, spend time with his younger siblings and Niall’s little girl and watch them grow up. He gets to tag along to Harry’s work trips, eating out at lovely expensive restaurants for free and calling it a job, and all the while just spending time with his man, time they never got to spend with each other before in their conflicting work schedules.

So yeah, maybe breaking your neck isn’t ideal and being confined to a wheelchair definitely sucks dick, but Louis is learning to make the most of it and he thinks he’s getting better at that with every passing day. Gone are the days when he used to cry about it when nobody else was around and gone is the time for moping. He has his down days about it all, of course he does, but they’re definitely not as frequent as they used to be, and he’s glad. He’s got a life to live, a job to do, a family to love and a recovery to undergo. Moping will just get in the way.

 _It is what it is,_ after all _._

*

Wednesday is usually Lad’s Night - always has been and probably always will be - but this Wednesday Liam rings Louis in the early morning and asks if he wants to go to the pub later, just the two of them.

“I mean, sure,” Louis answers in between mouthfuls of Coco Pops. “But what about the rest of the lads?”

“Niall has to take Lucy to her hospital appointment with Hailee,” Liam tells him. “And Zayn’s woken up with a migraine, bless him, so he’s having the day in bed. I think the stress of this deadline is getting to him.”

“I heard that!” yells Zayn’s tinny voice in the background. “And you can fuck off!”

Louis snorts as Liam coos something sweet and only mildly patronising Zayn’s way. “Well, that actually works out okay for me because I think Gemma’s dropping some stuff round for Haz later on, and you know what he’s like. He’ll wanna spend time with her without me there but he’ll be too polite to say anything.”

“Perfect,” Liam says brightly, then Louis hears some shuffling on the other end. “Shall I pick you up around 6? And we’ll get dinner there?”

“Yeah, sounds perfect.” Louis makes a mental note to ring Harry and let him know all this, another thing to add to his list of a million and one things to do today. “Text me when you’re setting off from work and I’ll be ready for when you’re here.”

“Looking forward to it, bro,” Liam says cheerily before sounding off a cheery goodbye and hanging up. Louis finishes up his last bite of cereal and pushes the bowl away, then reverses away from the table and wheels himself out the kitchen back to his office, glad to have something to look forward to after a full day of work. Harry’s out for the day, some business meeting down in London, so he’s on his own for a bit before Lottie comes round in about an hour to be his babysitter for the day, helping him if he needs a wee and just generally be there just in case.

His work have been nothing but understanding about cutting his hours and reducing his workload, and Louis is so grateful for it because there’s no way in hell he’d ever want to give up working all together, no matter how severe his injury.

Thankfully, he’s been able to get a studio set up in the house and with a little help from one of the company’s tech geniuses and some external funding they were able to create him a functional desktop and set him up with a custom mouse and drawing pad.

He never lost his creativity nor his enthusiasm, and he happily works 18 hours a week from home, designing the posters and developing resources for a film and theatre company. It’s been a little odd going from a 40+ hour week to this, but honestly, Louis has no idea how he had the time for a full time job before because he barely seems to be able to fit these hours in some weeks.

Today he’s working on a billboard design for an upcoming tour of Kinky Boots, and he buries his head in Photoshop until he hears Lottie let herself in.

“Lou?”

“In here,” he calls, turning his chair so he can greet her. She comes trudging through looking perfectly put together as always, and he opens his arms for a hug when she’s near enough. “Hi, darling.”

“Hey,” she says, pulling back. “Whatcha working on?”

“Billboard poster for Kinky Boots,” Louis says, turning back to his desk. “I’m trying to think of a clever design that doesn’t involve, like, actual kinky boots, you know?”

Lottie snorts. “Oh. That seems… almost too clever for me, sorry Lou.”

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t think it can be done, to be fair. I don’t have a lot of time - I need to get the first draft sent back over to Dave by Friday, and I’m out tonight and tomorrow, so. I’d better crack on.”

He can practically hear Lottie rolling her eyes. “Yes, alright, I’ll get out your hair. What time do you want lunch, and what do you want?”

“Pizza?” Louis says hopefully, turning around again to blink at her in what he hopes is a convincing manner. It always seems to work on Harry, so why not give it a go on his sister? “Domino’s? I’ll pay, obviously.”

“You’ve become so demanding in your old age,” Lottie comments with a laugh.

Louis juts out his bottom lip. “No, please, you don’t understand. Last night Harry made me fucking quinoa then got all offended when I told him it tasted like cardboard. Like, he didn’t put anything else in there, just served it up next to this, like, barely seasoned pork chop. Lottie, it was _awful._ ”

Lottie roars with laughter as Louis continues to pout. “Yes, alright, I’ll order us a pizza. I’ll come find you in about an hour to order?” Louis beams from ear to ear and nods. “Fab. I’m gonna go and do some editing in the lounge, stick last night’s Love Island on catch up.”

“Go for it,” Louis calls, waving her off. “See you in a bit!”

Harry is less than impressed when he comes back from London to find pizza boxes in the recycling bin. Luckily for Louis, his train home ran late so when he gets home it’s just as Liam arrives to pick him up, Lottie having helped him change into a nicer shirt before she’d quiffed his hair for him.

“I’m going out for dinner with Liam okay Gemma texted not long ago saying she’ll be here in half an hour have a good dinner with her I love you byeee,” he rushes out, waving a limp hand in Harry’s direction. “Run, Liam, run!”

“ _Christ,_ Louis, don’t drag me into your domestics,” Liam grumbles, but he’s laughing. “Right, remind me how it’s easiest for me to do this.”

Louis pops the breaks down so his chair is nice and secure, then sits himself up a little straighter. “How confident are you that you can lift me entirely?”

“Um, fairly,” Liam says, voice wavering a little. Louis can see Harry watching from the front window so, like the wind up merchant he is, holds out his arms and pretends to whimper.

“Lift me, oh strong knight in shining armour.”

“Is Harry- oh, for fuck’s sake, does Harry have to watch this?” Liam whines as he bends at the knees, sliding a careful arm under Louis’s thighs and using the other to secure his back. “Is this okay? Am I doing it right?”

“You’re fine,” Louis assures, wrapping his arms tightly around Liam’s neck. “Now lift me into the seat and just make sure I’m as upright as possible… _woah,_ alright, warn a guy!”

“You’re literally in my arms, how much more warning do you need?” shrills Liam. But he does as he’s told, raising Louis more easily than Louis had expected up and into the passenger seat. Screw Harry and his healthy eating; clearly he’s not too heavy for this. “How’s this, you comfy?”

“Yeah, good,” Louis says, shifting as best he can to the left so Liam can buckle him in. “Are we heading to The Dog and Duck then, yeah?”

“Obviously,” Liam says, folding Louis’s wheelchair up and sliding it into the backseat of the car. “Zayn might come a little bit later if he’s feeling up to it, but I wanted to have dinner with you first, I’ve got some things I wanna talk to you about on your own.”

Louis pretends to gasp. “You’re breaking up with me?”

Liam snorts. “Hilarious, aren’t you? Best friends since we were 3 and I’m booting you while at our favourite pub on the night they do our favourite meals.”

“You’ve done worse to me,” Louis titters, nudging Liam with his elbow when he goes to put the car in reverse. “You missed my graduation.”

“You missed your own fucking graduation, Louis.”

“Yeah, because I was in hospital, not because I wanted to,” Louis sniffs, pretending to be indignant. And before Liam would have coughed and spluttered and probably attempted to apologise profusely, but now he just rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Be nice to me, I’ve had a fucking long day at work.”

“Did that kid call you an Aldi version of David Beckham again?”

“Why would you bring that up?” Liam whines. Then he sighs. “It’s not that kid, for once. It’s just shit, like, now some of the younger kids have realised I’m a PE teacher who is living with another man. They’re, um, not always the kindest, let’s put it that way.”

“Oh, Li,” Louis says with a sad sigh. “Really? That’s fucking wank.” He scratches awkwardly at his leg, feeling bloody guilty now. “Have you had a word with the headteacher about it or anything?”

“Nah.” Liam shrugs. “Why, do you think I should?”

“Absolutely,” Louis says vehemently. “Don’t they teach fucking sex ed in schools anymore? _Christ._ Why has it got to be the biggest deal?”

Liam shrugs weakly. “I dunno, Lou, it wasn’t anything, like, majorly bad if I look at it now. Just what you’d expect from bratty kids, like, jokes about bumming and stuff like that.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “It’s really no big deal, I don’t even know why I brought it up.”

“No, I’m not having that,” Louis says snappily. “You’re a good fucking teacher, Liam, and if you let them get away with this then they’ll think they can walk all over you which is something they can’t do. You’re the teacher, _you_ can be the one to fail them at the end of the day, you’re an adult that they need to learn to respect and they’ll do well to remember that.”

Liam snorts humorlessly. “Thanks, Lou.” He sighs. “I wish it felt that easy when I’m at work.”

“Want me to sort them out?” Louis offers, and the pair share a laugh because that’s how it’s always been. Liam’s always been physically the bigger and the stronger of the pair, but it was always Louis getting into fights in his honour in school. Liam would never ask him to because he hated the idea of getting either of them in trouble, but Louis hadn’t given a shit back them. Liam was his best friend, and if anyone thought they were getting away with being a little bitch then they were _sorely_ mistaken.

“Yeah, go on then,” Liam giggles, reaching out to pat Louis’s arm as they pull up to a traffic light. “Sort them out like you sorted out Nick Pearson in Year 11.”

“Listen,” Louis says sharply, crossing his arms. “How the fuck was I meant to know the kid was a fucking taekwondo pro? He looked weedy as shit.”

“Weedy as shit until he gave you a bloody nose,” Liam mutters.

“Yeah, and he wasn’t even doing taekwondo when he gave me that, the little cunt.”

“Alright, I’m sorry I brought _tha_ t up,” Liam says, raising a hand in mock protest. “What have you been up to today anyway?”

Laughing, Louis launches into an explanation of his Kinky Boots quandary and by the time Liam looks thoroughly baffled and as stumped by it all as Louis feels, they’ve arrived at their favourite pub; the pub that they’ve been going to since they were teenagers, the pub where they bought their first pints and watched all their World Cup matches and got themselves kicked out of every Saturday night of their Sixth Form years. It’s as much a part of their lives as their own houses are at this point, and Louis is convinced he’ll be drinking there until the day he dies.

All the staff know them there; Paul, the owner and one of his stepdad’s good mates has been a key player in helping Louis raise money for his fund, hosting all kinds of events out of the pub. He also made sure that every bit of the pub was fully accessible and paid out of his own pocket for a ramp that means Louis can get up to the games area, so even though he can’t play darts or snooker anymore he can still be around his mates while they all do.

Yeah, Louis will never find another pub to drink in.

Liam assists him back into the chair and pushes him through the entranceway, and there’s a lot of familiar faces inside that they both wave to. They rock up to their usual booth and Louis slides his legs under the table before popping the breaks on his chair, and within seconds Paul is over to them, clapping both lads on the shoulder in greeting.

“Boys!” he crows. Louis grins - he’s glad some things have never changed, even after all this time. “Feel like I’ve not seen you two lads in ages. How you keeping?”

“Same old, same old,” Louis chirps, Liam nodding behind him. “How are you, Pauly? How’s the wife?”

“She’s grand,” Paul says with a nod, clapping Louis’s shoulder again. “And your boy?”

“He’s grand as well,” Louis says, beaming. “With his sister tonight so I thought I’d bring young Liam out for a bit, like old times, yanno?”

“Hey, this was my idea!” Liam says, pretending to pout.

Paul roars with laughter and shakes his head. “You two, eh? What am I gonna do with you?”

“Bring us a couple of beers maybe?” Louis tries, his grin never faltering. Paul rolls his eyes.

“Yes, sir!” he says, pretending to salute, then he disappears back behind the bar to pull them each a pint.

“You would never have gotten away with that shit if you had working legs,” says Liam dryly.

Louis roars a laugh. “I know right. It’s amazing the shit I get away with now. It’s literally one of the only perks.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Dickhead. Do you want to look at a menu?”

“Why?” Louis snorts. “It’s Wednesday, ain’t it?”

“True,” Liam says, setting out a knife and fork for each of them from the pot on the side of the table. “Fish and chips and mushy peas it is then.”

Paul returns with their beers and they banter away for a little longer before he disappears back to the bar with their orders - Wednesday night has been Fish & Chips Night at the place for as long as any of them can remember, and it’s one of Louis’s favourite things to eat in the whole world. It’s not long before Josh, one of the familiar faces from the kitchen and one of Louis and Liam’s schoolmates, is carrying out two great big plates of food for them; hefty portions of beer battered cod, proper chunky homemade chips, and the only mushy peas Louis would ever consider eating, practically overflowing.

“Thanks so much,” Louis says, practically licking his lips as the meal is set down in front of him. “You’re a wizard, Joshua, honestly.”

“Such a compliment coming from you, Lou,” Josh snorts as he pretends to cuff him round the back of the head. “How are you doing anyway? Haven’t seen you in a while, have we?”

“Just been busy with physio and work and that,” Louis says, beaming at Liam as he slides Louis’s plate towards him and starts to cut up his fish. “And Harry’s been in and out of the office a lot for a change.” He reaches for the ketchup, then nudges that towards Liam too. “And how’s Shawn? He keeping alright too?”

“He’s great,” Josh says. Shawn, Josh’s other half, plays on the same team that Louis used to, and the four of them had gone on double dates together a time or two. “He’s looking to move jobs, you know, get some better hours in because we don’t see each other as much as we’d like, but he’s great.”

“When’s your next evening off?” Louis asks. “We’ll have to go for drinks or dinner or something.” He picks up his fork as Liam slides his plate back. “Thanks Li, you’re a gem.”

“Mmmm, Friday?”

“Sound, I’ll talk to Haz and see if he’s free then, then drop you a text?”

“Sound,” Josh echoes, then turns back towards the kitchen with a fleeting wave. “See you lads soon!”

Louis’s grinning as he digs into his meal. “This is delicious.”

“It always is,” Liam agrees, buttering a slice of bread. He slides one piece over to Louis and then picks up another piece for himself. “I literally don’t think I’m ever going to find a pub as much as I love this one anywhere else ever. Even if Zayn and I do eventually move I don’t think anything will ever beat this one.”

“I was literally just thinking this earlier,” Louis chirps, and then, “Wait. What did you just say?”

Liam suddenly becomes very interested in his slice of bread. “I, um. This is the best pub in the world?”

“No,” Louis says slowly. “That bit about you and Zayn moving away.” His eyebrows are practically in his hairline. “Is there something you want to tell me? Because you’re not allowed to move away.”

“Um,” Liam says again, then looks up at Louis with bright, shiny eyes. “I have something to tell you, actually. It’s kind of the reason I, um, just invited you tonight and not the others. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

Louis has a feeling he knows what Liam’s about to say, but he can’t wait to hear it from him.

“I… so I may have asked Zayn to marry me last night…”

“You did?” Louis yells, throwing down his fork and clapping his hands together. “Oh my _god, Liam._ ”

People are definitely looking over at their table but for once Louis couldn’t give a single fuck.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you plan something!”

“I didn’t tell _anyone,_ ” Liam says defensively, then reaches up to the collar of his t-shirt to pull out a necklace that Louis hadn’t even noticed. Louis’s eyes are wide when he sees the gold band nestled there and his heart soars with excitement and love and pride. “I was too scared someone would talk me out of it or something, I dunno.”

“So you’re engaged,” Louis says, and it comes out strangled. “You’re engaged?”

“I’m engaged,” Liam echoes, and Louis lets out an almighty shriek, awkwardly reversing his wheelchair out from under the table before he shoots himself forward into Liam’s (thankfully ready) arms. “Fuck, Lou. I’m _engaged._ ”

“Oh my god, I’m so fucking happy,” Louis sing-songs, mostly muffled by Liam’s shoulder. “Fuck. _Fuck._ This is such a good day, _such_ a good day!” He rolls back and claps his fists together. “You two deserve this, bro. You so deserve this. I’m so fucking happy.”

“So you keep saying,” Liam laughs, reaching over to squeeze Louis’s hand. “We told our families last night but I wanted to tell you in person, because I have something I want to ask you.”

Louis’s stomach lurches. “You…”

“Louis, will you be my best man?” Liam asks, grin so wide his cheeks look ready to split.

“I… Of fucking course!” Louis shrieks, then rolls right back into Liam’s arms. He honest to god feels like he’s floating. “Oh my fucking god, Li. Really?”

“Really?” Liam deadpans, hands on Louis’s shoulders. “Did you really think I would ask anyone else?” He shakes Louis gently. “Best mates since we were 3, remember?”

“Well, yes, but…” Louis cuts himself off before he can say what he doesn’t want to say, because this is too happy of a moment for him and his wheelchair woes to bring down. “Whatever. I can’t wait. I can’t _wait._ ”

Behind them, a champagne cork pops and they both jump, but it’s only Paul coming up behind them, an overflowing bottle of fizz clutched tightly in his fist. “Eyyyy, lads!” he cheers, pulling Liam into a tight hug. “Congrats, boyo, congrats.”

“Thanks,” Liam says, cheeks pink. “You didn’t have to do this though, Paul.”

“Course I did,” Paul guffaws, flopping down into a spare seat where he starts pouring the champagne into flutes. He hands the first to Liam, the second to Louis. “On the house, of course. It’s not everyday one of my best customers gets engaged, is it?”

Louis laughs as Liam blushes down to his neck and sips his bubbly as Paul starts asking a thousand and one questions about location and dates and food and everything Liam doesn’t seem to have an answer for. “Oh, give it a rest, Paul,” he titters playfully, pretending to swat at him. “They only got engaged last night, Liam will be fucked if he’s got any idea about any of this stuff.”

Paul rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he says gruffly, “I’ll stop with the third degree.” Liam looks relieved, bless him. “But you best hold your reception here, boy, or else they’ll be trouble.”

Liam and Louis both snort. “I’m sure that’s one thing I can say for certain this early on,” Liam laughs. “We’d never dream of having it anywhere else, Pauly, you know this.”

“Good,” Paul says, clapping him on the back.

The rest of the evening flies by. Louis and Liam finish up their now-lukewarm dinners, Paul fetches them both some cake and ice cream, and they leave just before he rings the last orders bell because they both unfortunately have work in the morning.

They only have the one glass each because Liam is driving and they both know that when Louis starts he doesn’t stop, so after another round of hugs and further promises to show their faces more often, they head out the door and back to Liam’s car. They chat about possible stag do ideas the whole drive back and when they pull up outside Louis’s bungalow and Liam sets Louis back into his chair, Louis can’t help but pull him into another tight squeeze.

“Did the champagne get to your head more than we thought?” Liam snorts, but returns the hug anyway. “What’s this for?”

“I think ending up in a wheelchair has just made me soppier, to be honest with you,” Louis giggles as he pulls back. “Honestly, I might even cry on your wedding day.”

“There’s a novelty,” Liam says dryly. “Here, do you have your house keys?”

Louis nods, but as he starts rummaging in his little bag the front door opens anyway. Even in the dark Louis can see Harry’s raised eyebrows and soft grin, and he rolls himself down the pathway towards his house and his boyfriend. “Hi, darling.”

“What time do you call this?” Harry says in lieu of a greeting, pretending to peer at an imaginary watch. “You pair of dirty stopouts.”

“I’m getting married, Haz,” Liam says softly, stopping a few feet from the front door. Harry gapes at him. “Sorry, it’s my fault he’s back so late.”

“I’m… I’m fucking joking, Li, shit,” Harry says, already striding forward to pull him into a hug. “Come here, oh my _god._ ”

Louis grins up at the pair, two of his favourite people in the whole world, and ignores the pang of jealousy in his stomach about wanting to be involved the hug too.

“Congratulations,” Harry says, voice cracking on the final syllable. It doesn’t take a genius to see the lad is seconds off crying. “I… oh, Li, I’m so happy for you both. This is… _fuck_ , I’m so excited and happy.”

“You sound just like your bloody boyfriend,” Liam chuckles. “I know you’re fucking happy for me, Haz, I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

Both Louis and Harry shoot him the same dry look at the same time and they all end up dissolving into a fit of giggles.

Louis doesn’t think he’s been this happy in a fucking long time, honestly.

“Come in, let’s have a drink!” Harry says, tilting his head towards the front door before he goes to push Louis up the little ramp to get into the house. “I want to hear all the details. All of them!”

Liam ends up staying until it’s almost midnight, and Louis has to practically shoo him out because poor Harry looks mere minutes off falling asleep and he needs him to put him to bed. But he leaves with the promise of a slap-up meal the following night at one of their favourite restaurants, their treat, and the same dopey smile he’s been wearing ever since he told Louis the news.

“Wanna go to bed?” Harry asks, punctuated by a yawn. Louis nods and heads towards their room, aware of Harry trailing behind him. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I have to,” Louis says with a groan. “Got a deadline for Friday. What about you?”

“Yeah, but from home too,” Harry says, then yawns again. “Hey, do you wanna go to bed bed yet or can we just have a cuddle for a bit before we sleep?”

“I’m always here for a cuddle,” Louis chuckles. He moves his chair as close as he can to the bed and glances up at Harry, who’s currently unbuckling his jeans. “Do you want to do a transfer with the board if you’re tired?”

“No, I got you,” Harry assures, and once he’s down to just his boxers he helps Louis lower the bed, then carefully lifts him out of the chair and into it. “Boxers or naked tonight?”

“I don’t care,” Louis says with a giggle and a shrug. “I love you and all but I think sex may be off the table for tonight, so boxers maybe.”

“Sorry, baby,” Harry says sheepishly as he fumbles with the laces on Louis’s Converse. He slides one off, dropping it to the floor haphazardly, then starts fighting with the other. “I just feel like I’ve had, like, the longest day ever and it’s not even been that long.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Louis asks gently, lifting his hips ready for Harry to slide his jeans down his legs.

“Nah, let’s talk about the fact our best friends are getting fucking _married_ and you’re gonna be Liam’s best man, how fucking brilliant is that?” Harry beams. “Bet you’re buzzing.”

“Oh my god, I really am,” Louis says, letting his head fall back against the pillow as he grins dopily. “Part of me kind of already knew it’d be me, I think, but then part of me didn’t want to assume, you know? But I’m so happy he finally asked Zayn and asked me and just… oh, fuck, it’s just all so exciting, isn’t it? Our little boys are growing up so fast.”

He opens his eyes as he feels Harry’s deft hands go to open the flies of his jeans, and he makes the same joke he’s made every night for almost two years now.

“Trying to get into my pants, are we Styles?”

Harry snorts a laugh and carries on undressing Louis, shaking his head fondly. “You know I am,” he titters, then once Louis is trouser-free he coughs and hides his face behind his hair before he says, “So, would Liam be best man for you at our wedding?”

 _That_ takes Louis aback. He hasn’t thought about his own wedding… well, at all really. “I mean, probably,” he says with a shrug, then grins. “Almost definitely now I’m going to be his.” And his grin only grows bigger as he continues to think about it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m pretty sure he would be. Who would be yours?”

“Mitch,” Harry says without missing a beat. “Or maybe Niall, I dunno.”

“You do know,” Louis chuckles. When Harry moves up to unbutton his shirt he wraps his arms around his neck and tugs him upward so they’re pressed nose to nose, and Harry goes almost cross-eyed as Louis stares into him. “Do you think about our wedding a lot, baby?”

“I, um, yeah, I mean, I think about it from time to time,” Harry mumbles. A delicious flush creeps up his neck and Louis can’t help but grin even wider, pleased as punch. “I’ve been thinking about it a bit more these last few months, not gonna lie.”

“You wanna marry me?” Louis coos, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair. He tugs sharply and Harry bites his lip, but it doesn’t do much to mask his gasp. “You wanna make me yours for the rest of our lives?”

“ _Yes,”_ Harry moans as he moves himself up onto the bed properly, then they’re kissing like they’re teenagers again, licking into each other’s mouths and pressing their bodies together, trying to get as close to each other as physically possible. Harry rests his thigh in between Louis’s and curls an arm around his back, and they kiss until they both can’t breathe with it.

“I wanna marry you so bad,” Harry whispers against Louis’s collarbone when they’ve broken apart. He uses his thumb to wipe a little of the dampness from Louis’s lips, then he giggles softly. “I have such a picture of it in my mind, I have to tell you. It’s gonna be such a good day.”

Louis feels giddy when he asks, “So how does the day go then? What can I expect?”

“Well, we’re getting married in a beautiful stately home, obviously,” Harry starts, pulling Louis in even closer. They don’t often get to lie face to face like this anymore, because Louis has to sleep on his side facing the wall to avoid getting tangled up with his tubes, so they both really relish moments like this.

“ _Obviously,”_ he echoes cheekily, and Harry pinches his cheek.

“Do you want me to walk you through this or not?” he asks, and Louis nods. “Okay, good. So we get married in a stately home in Yorkshire, and all our family and friends are there, of course. It’s not big but it’s not small. I’d like to think there’s going to be about 200 guests.”

Louis nods again, a little dazed. That seems pretty damn big to him, but Harry’s barreling on before he can query it.

“And we’re both wearing these matching suits, blue silk and custom made for us, obviously. We book out the whole place and we all sleep there the night before, have a massively fancy rehearsal dinner in the grand dining room or whatever. And then in the morning we stay apart for a bit because _obviously_ it’s bad luck to get ready with each other before the ceremony, but it won’t be for long because we’re getting married in the early afternoon. And it’ll be in the spring so it won’t be too warm or too cold, so we can take our photos outside but the party afterwards will be inside, in the grand dining room again maybe.”

“But in terms of the actual ceremony, you’re waiting me for at the altar, because I’m the princess here and I get to walk down the aisle to you, and you greet me with such a big, beautiful smile because you’ve not seen me yet and you miss me and because we’re going to spend the rest of our fucking lives together.”

“Isn’t that, like, a tad old-fashioned?” Louis chimes in. “Like, just because we’re both men doesn’t mean one of us has to be waiting for the other.”

“But I want you to be,” Harry pouts. “I have it all planned out, Louis, don’t interrupt.”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Louis says, holding up a hand in mock defence. “Please continue.”

“And then we have the ceremony and I cry all the way through,” Harry says, and Louis has to laugh at that. He can one hundred percent see this happening. “And then afterwards we kiss and we kiss some more and then we dance the night away and get really drunk and then make love for hours in the bridal suite or whatever giant bed the hotel can offer us.” He looks so happy and content that Louis has to kiss him again, he just has to.

“And when do we see this happening?” he hears himself asking before he can stop himself. “Soon? Or a few years down the road?”

“Well, that depends,” Harry shrugs. “I want to marry you when you want to marry me, so it’s whenever you feel ready, baby.”

“I wanna marry you,” Louis murmurs, “so much. I can’t believe I never really thought about it before but now… now I wanna marry you tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

The grin that spreads across Harry’s face is brilliant and beaming, and Louis can’t stop kissing him tonight, he really can’t. “Okay, that’s… that’s really fucking good to know,” Harry says with a soft laugh. And then Louis starts laughing too, because the whole thing seems so _absurd,_ two people who have been together for eight fucking years finally having the conversation about whether they want to marry each other. “You make me so happy, Louis, _fuck.”_

“Fuck,” Louis echoes, burying his face into Harry’s warm chest. “Do you have any idea how happy you make me? Like, seriously?”

“I think I have an idea,” Harry smirks. “Because I’m kinda the same way for you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Do our suits really have to be blue though?” Louis has to ask, and Harry throws his head back in a laugh, a loud, raucous sound that Louis loves so much. “I don’t know if blue is my colour.”

“Everything is your colour,” Harry tells him, and suddenly they’re kissing again. It’s an overwhelming conversation and Louis is so glad Harry seems as affected by it all as he is, because right now he feels like he’s floating. “ _Oh,_ and I’m the one that’s proposing to you, by the way. Don’t get any funny ideas about how you’re doing it because I’ve got this all planned out too.”

“You can’t be the one to propose _and_ the one to walk down the aisle to me,” Louis protests. “What do I get to do then?”

“Whatever else you want,” Harry says. “Obviously there’s some stuff that is firmly non-negotiable here but, like, in terms of everything else, like, it’s your call.”

“ _Obviously,_ ” Louis mocks again, then kisses the pout off Harry’s lips. “Alright, darling, alright. Whatever you want.” He frowns. “Although maybe I jumped the gun a little saying I’d marry you tomorrow. I’ve got a big fucking deadline so I can’t really spare you the time.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “We have time, Louis. Plus, now I know it can be soon then I can _actually_ start planning my proposal rather than just daydreaming about it, you know?”

“I love you,” Louis says gently, softly, trailing his knuckles across Harry’s cheek. He honestly has no idea how he got so lucky. “I love you and I’m so grateful to have you, and I don’t know how to thank you for being you sometimes.”

“Just… just say yes, will you?” Harry says, eyes wide. “You will say yes when I ask, like, this is something you want for us, isn’t it?”

“Of course I’ll say yes, you tit.” Louis pretends to punch him. “I kinda knew we’d get there eventually but, like, obviously things happened and things got rearranged, but I can’t ever picture myself wanting to not be with you. That’s something that’ll never change for me, Haz, and I’m, like, so unbelievably happy it hasn’t changed for you, you know, after everything.”

Harry frowns. “Why would it?”

“Harry, I’m a pain in the arse at the best of times, but now I’m a pain in the arse who requires round the clock care because his legs don’t work.” Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re only 23 years old, yet here you are talking about marrying a quadriplegic and signing up for a life of that round the clock care, so.” He shrugs. “Like… you never owed me staying just because we were together before the accident, you know? I would have let you go if you didn’t want this to be your life.” He shrugs again. “It would have broken my fucking heart but I would have understood, you know?”

Harry’s voice is shaky when he says, “Don’t think like that. Don’t ever think like that, Louis, _Christ._ It’s bullshit, like… it’s fucking bullshit, okay?” He sniffs weakly. “I couldn’t give a shit whether your legs work or not, Louis. I chose you back then and I still choose you now, and I’ll always fucking choose you, okay? You’re _my_ Louis. Don’t… just don’t, okay? Because hearing that you’ve ever thought that is… that hurts, a little bit, but it also... it’s bullshit.” For a terrifying split second, Louis thinks he’s fucked up and made him cry, but he doesn’t. “I love you so much, alright? And if you ever have doubts or need any kind of reassurance or whatever, please come and talk to me. Please.”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes out weakly. “Harry…”

“I can’t… _fuck,_ I can’t promise we will be together forever, Louis, I can’t, but we’re here talking about marriage and that’s about as permanent as you can get.” Harry stares him down for a few seconds, stroking stray pieces of hair behind his ears, and Louis doesn’t know what to say to him so he just doesn’t say anything. “I know we’re unconventional and I know we can’t do the same shit that other couples can or whatever but I still would rather fall asleep with you than anyone else in the world, and that’s… that’s all I’m gonna say, because if I carry on I’ll probably cry.”

“Harry, I’m sorry…” Louis starts, but Harry shakes his head, cutting him off.

“No, Lou, it’s fine, it’s like… I need to know how you’re feeling, right? And I don’t want you to say yes to marrying me based on some kind of, like, obligation because I’m not the only one who could feel obligated to stay…”

Louis’s mouth drops open in horror. “Shut the fuck up, Harry, _Jesus_ . I just said I’d marry you tomorrow and I fucking mean it, and I don’t ever want this to become a big deal just because I get insecure sometimes.” He pulls himself up closer to Harry, cradling his head to his chest as best he can, and Harry lets him. “This conversation has helped, I swear. I hope you know how much I trust you, because I do, with my _life_ , and…”

Harry cuts him off with a harsh kiss, one with bite and passion and some much emotion that Louis almost tears up from it. It’s tender and it’s brilliant and Louis goes pliant in Harry’s strong hold, letting him roll them over so he’s hovering over him. The room feels hot and the energy between them feels charged, and pretty soon Louis feels the familiar tug low in his belly, his cock stirring in interest.

And from the looks of things, Harry’s in a similar state.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Louis hisses, and he keeps his hold on Harry tight as he manipulates Louis’s legs so they’re open wide, then kisses him and kisses him as Harry does the bulk of the work, grinding down and fucking their crotches together until they’ve both made a mess of their boxers.

(Louis is eternally grateful that his injury hasn’t stopped him from being able to get hard. In many cases of paralysis, the man is only able to get hard from reflex erections, but as Louis’s injury is classed as an incomplete break, he’d been fortunate enough that his cock still reacts when touched, and even though he can’t always achieve orgasm anymore, he still enjoys the sensation and the closeness that having sex with Harry brings. And tonight he was able to come, which is just the icing on the cake, really.)

“And you thought sex wasn’t on the cards,” Harry mumbles in between lazy kisses. Louis chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

“Oh, shut up,” Louis titters. He’s comfy in Harry’s hold but he’s a little further down the bed than he’d like to be, so he tries to wiggle his way back up. “Hey, can you just move me back onto the pillows a little?”

Harry nods, gripping him by the hips and shifting him up a little. Louis smiles and whispers a thank you, then pouts as Harry sits back on his haunches and starts wrestling Louis’s sticky boxers down.

“So you really are just trying to get into my pants.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry mocks, peeling them down his legs and wrinkling his nose. “You can sleep in sticky boxers if you’d really like.”

“No thank-you,” Louis says primly, wincing a little as the cold air hits his naked body. Harry climbs off the bed then climbs out of his own soiled boxer briefs, then disappears into the bathroom, presumably to get a flannel. He hears the tap running, then the loo flushes, then by the time he’s back in the room with a warm, wet cloth Louis’s teeth have started chattering.

“Why didn’t you call me back in?” Harry says sternly as he runs the flannel down Louis’s thighs and over his crotch. “I’m only in the next room, idiot, it’s not like I have to come far.”

“Alright, calm down, princess,” Louis snaps. “It’s because you’re only in the next room that I didn’t. You weren’t going to be long and you weren’t, like, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Harry groans. “Alright, I’m sorry, I just…” He uses his dry hand to push his long hair out of the way, behind his ears. “You worry me all the time, dickhead.”

“I know,” Louis says, partly defensive and partly just tired. “And I’m sorry, but it’s not that big of a deal, it’s just…” He groans himself, resting a hand over his eyes. “I don’t want to argue with you because we’ve basically just agreed to get married and I already upset you tonight, I don’t wanna do it again.”

“I’m not upset now,” Harry insists. “And I know it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal to you, and maybe it shouldn’t be as big of a deal to me, I dunno, but here we are. I worry about you more than I think I need to, but that’s... “ He trails off, scratching at his head. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a prick, to be honest Louis.”

“I don’t think you need to say anything,” Louis says pragmatically. “I know what you’re trying to say and I know… I just know. And I promise you, Harry, I absolutely promise you that if I feel I’m in danger or I’m really, truly uncomfortable or I know something isn’t right then I will be telling you, yeah? Because it’s not about me being insecure or stubborn or whatever, it’s like…” He sighs. “Will you just come here? So I can kiss you?”

Harry crawls back onto the bed and then tugs the covers over both of them, kissing Louis ever so softly and gently. “I don’t mean to have a go…”

“I know, baby,” Louis reassures, patting his cheek lightly. “I know. This whole situation sucks.”

“It doesn’t suck…”

“Harry, it _fucking_ sucks,” Louis says dryly, giving him a look. “I hate the fact that I feel like a liability and I hate the fact we have to have conversations like this so regularly, like I fucking hate it.”

“But you’re not a liability…”

“And you’re welcome to repeat that all you want, darling, but it still won’t make me believe it,” Louis tells him, but his voice goes softer, sadder, as he says it. “I love you so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, yeah?” He shrugs weakly against the pillows. “Can we just leave it at that for tonight? Please?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, then rests his head on Louis’s chest. “Yeah, we can.”

They lie there in silence for a bit, their slightly laboured breathing the only real sound in the room. Louis feels himself dozing off, knackered out both emotionally and physically from the sex, when he feels Harry start to shift and sit up, so he cracks an eye open.

“What’s up, love?”

Harry is looking at him with a strange mix of intensity and fond. “You know I love you so much too, don’t you? And that I want to spend the rest of my life with you as well?”

And Louis finds himself grinning from ear to ear again, that familiar warmth that comes from being so in love he doesn’t know what to do with himself flooding over his whole body again.

“ _Obviously._ ”

Harry pinches the inside of his thigh for that, _hard,_ but he’s also grinning from ear to ear, and it’s not like it hurts Louis that much anyway _._ And Louis _supposes_ he was asking for it, just a little.

*

Niall became Louis’s best friend at university within about ten minutes of them meeting each other.

The two lads were put in the same flat together and Niall had knocked on Louis’s open door to introduce himself within twenty minutes of him moving in, a can of Carling in one hand and the most disgusting looking sandwich Louis had ever seen in the other, asking if Louis wanted to order to pizza and share his crate of beer.

The rest, as they say, is history.

In his third year of university, Niall, an international student from Ireland, had met Hailee, an international student from Los Angeles at a random flat party. The pair had shagged back in the flat that Louis, Harry, Zayn, Liam and Niall all shared, and within days she was a pretty permanent feature on their sofa and another person to hog the shower in the mornings and steal the last condom from the bathroom drawer. She was brilliant and beautiful, with a cracking voice and a wicked sense of humour, and she and Niall fit together like magnets.

Two weeks before graduation day, Hailee found out she was pregnant.

Louis vividly remembers the night when him and the other three had hidden in their tiny bedroom like they were recreating that scene from Friends as Niall and Hailee screamed and yelled at each other for what felt like years. They called each other every name under the sun - _“stupid, reckless, incompetent fucking cunt” -_ but then the screaming stopped and the sobbing had started, and Louis, like the other three, doesn’t think he’s ever felt so helpless in his entire life.

The next morning, when Hailee had gone back to her own flat for a bit and everyone emerged puffy-eyed and bleary as hell, Niall told them how he’d basically ended up proposing to her, desperate to do the right thing and so, so scared of what Hailee’s parents back home would think of him.

“I love her so much,” he’d whimpered into Liam’s shoulder, squished in between all of them in a group hug. In all their years living together Louis had never seen Niall cry, and it was truly heartbreaking to see one of the strongest, chilled out people he knew crumple like this. “And yeah, I’d love to have a family with her at some point, but now? What the fucking fuck am I going to do with a baby, eh?”

“You’re going to raise it and love it and be the best dad you can be,” Harry had said. He squeezed Niall’s hand. “This is unexpected, sure, but think about it. Chances are it’ll be one of the best things that’s ever happened to you.”

“But I’m still a kid m’self,” Niall garbled. Louis patted him on the head. “I go out drinking four nights a week at least. I’ve got three quid in my bank account right now and I don’t get paid for another week. I can’t be a fucking dad.” He sniffed. “But I can’t… she has to keep it, right? I can’t ask her to do that and I… well. I don’t want her to, for fuck’s sake.”

“Just because you’re both young and a bit stupid doesn’t mean you’ll be a bad dad,” Zayn said diplomatically. “You’re both committed, like, strongly to each other and you will be to this. I think it’s normal to need a bit of time to process it. And you have time to work out the money thing and shit like that.”

“My mum had me young, and I turned out kinda okay,” Louis chipped in, and after they’d all shot him sardonic looks and had a good laugh about it, Niall seemed to perk up a bit about the whole situation and things kind of went back to normal for the day.

Kind of, because Hailee had shown up at their door just as they were all heading to bed, tears running down her cheeks, almost unable to speak she was crying that hard. Niall had let out a strangled gasp and held her right there in the doorway for close to an hour while the other four had milled around, feeling helpless and overwhelmed and unsure of how to help, or if they even _could_ help, for fuck’s sake.

Eventually they broke apart, and Hailee had trailed through into the lounge and taken her usual seat on the sofa, pulling Niall down next to her and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Hi, boys.”

“Hi,” everyone had chorused awkwardly, and even though she was clearly still distraught she’d managed an eye roll and a weak laugh.

“I don’t need that tone, you know. And I know you all already know.” She sniffed, using the hand not clutched in Niall’s to wipe her nose. “I’m pregnant and I have to go back to America in three weeks and I’m so scared…” She’d trailed off, and Niall had wrapped her in an even tighter hug than before, eyes shiny and red as he’d kissed the top of her head again and again. “No, it’s okay Ni, I just… I’m fucking scared. I really am, but I’ve had a good fucking cry about it now and I need you guys to help me figure out what to do, yeah? I can’t… I don’t wanna tell the bitches in my flat and you guys are literally my best friends here so.” She shrugged. “Help me, please?”

It was surreal from start to finish and a little more pressure than Louis was looking for this side of finishing exams, but they did it.

Niall proposed to Hailee properly on their graduation day, getting down on one knee awkwardly in his gown with a ring that he’d found in a second hand jewellers for £100. His family were there and so were hers, and even though everyone seemed a little shell shocked and confused at how sudden it all was, all the lads were able to talk up how much sense it made given how madly in love they were and the fact they might have to go long distance, and it seemed like everyone bought it.

They got married at the end of summer, when Hailee was just starting to show and before everyone else had to start real jobs in new places and they wouldn’t get to see each other every day. They had the reception at the local TGI Friday’s, Niall got drunker than Louis has ever seen him and then proceeded to cry into the tablecloth, and for the first time in his life Louis felt okay with the idea of adulthood. Despite the unusual circumstances it was clear that the pair were completely besotted with one another and them getting married was likely inevitable anyway, and part of Louis started thinking about his own future, his own wedding.

(And then Harry ruined it by smashing a cake into his face and he’d started plotting murder, not marriage.)

Hailee’s pregnancy had been pretty smooth up until about two months before her due date, when extreme fatigue started to set in and her blood sugar levels started to drop dangerously low. She took early maternity leave and took the time to rest for a bit and for a couple of weeks things looked like they were getting better, that that had just been a fluke.

It wasn’t a fluke.

Niall came home from work one evening to find Hailee slumped on the sofa, blood everywhere, unmoving. He’d dialled 999 and then called Harry and Louis in hysterics, begging them to meet him at the hospital because he couldn’t do this alone. His family were a sea away and so were Hailee’s, so they really were the closest thing Niall had to family around him. Both of them left work and sped straight to the hospital, where they found a sobbing Niall sat alone in the corner of the waiting room.

“She’s in surgery,” he wept into Louis’s shoulder. Louis was seconds away from crying himself. “I can’t see her. They don’t know if either of them…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, and really he didn’t need to.

But they both did. A few hours later a doctor called Niall into the room and ten minutes later he emerged with a tiny, tiny baby swaddled in a huge pink blanket. Her skin was pale, tinged almost blue, and she had a shock of dark hair. She was also one of the most beautiful things Louis had ever seen.

“She’s okay,” he breathed, leaning down a little to show them her tiny face, bright red and contorted in sleep. “She’s okay and Hailee’s gonna be okay too, they think.”

Louis and Harry had both burst into tears at the same time, relief washing over like a tidal wave.

Unfortunately, that relief too was short-lived. Little Lucy was taken back to the neonatal unit and placed in an incubator where she stayed until she was seven months old. Her early birth had taken a heavy toll on both mother and baby and for the first few months there were sleepless nights, angry outbursts, floods of tears and unbearably long periods of not knowing anything.

But little Lucy Horan was a fighter and despite a multitude of health problems she survived.

It took them a few weeks to give them a cohesive diagnosis, but what they were eventually told is this: Lucy was born with a structural defeat to her heart, which hadn’t been picked up when Hailee had had her scans. As such, Hailee’s body was working harder than normal to keep the baby going, which explained the fatigue during her pregnancy but also meant that the birth had been quite traumatic. The whole thing was confusing and horrible and Louis spent a good few weeks not really understanding what the problem was, but he knew it was serious. It was more serious than any of them, Niall and Hailee especially, were ready for.

Lucy has to take medication every single day, multiple times a day, to keep her blood pressure normal and her heart rate in check. She’s in and out of hospital appointments on a weekly basis to make sure everything is going as smoothly as it can. There’s talk of her having surgery a little later on in life to repair the defect, but right now they’ve deemed her little body too weak for any kind of operation so they just keep her monitored for now.

Having said that, the bulk of her childhood was fairly normal. Aside from her taking her daily medication she seemed to be doing fine, living a normal enough life that Hailee could go back to working part time and Niall could work full time. They moved closer to Harry and Louis and Zayn and Liam so they had close friends who were able to help here and there, but for the most part they seemed to be handling things well on their own.

Louis isn’t really sure what changed, but over the past year things suddenly have. Suddenly she’s having hospitals three times a week instead of just the once. Suddenly they’re seeing less and less of their friends because they can’t leave her or they don’t want to leave her because she’s been so unwell. She gets tired quicker and frustrated about it too, because that child has always loved being out and about and she’s just a little too young to understand why it’s such a struggle for her at the moment. She can’t go over to her friend’s houses after school and she can’t play sports and she has to make sure she takes a tablet with her lunch at school, and from what Niall’s told him over the phone the other kids around her are starting to pick up on that and some of them haven’t been the nicest. It’s enough to break Louis’s heart all over again.

Any excuse for Lucy to come round they’ll take, so when Niall rings up and asks if they can pop round for dinner because Lucy’s appointment ran over and they’re close by and it’s been a while since they’ve caught up. Harry being Harry can’t just settle for ordering in pizza though - Louis rolls into the kitchen to find him shoving a joint into the slow cooker and whacking it onto full heat.

“Surely putting something in the slow cooker at this time of night is counter-productive.”

Harry just looks at him.

“What?”

“It’s like you don’t know me at all,” Harry hisses. “I am not ordering takeaway for our friends when they come here to eat. Especially not for Lucy. I refuse to be behind anything that feeds that girl rubbish.”

The doorbell rings then, and even from a hallway away Louis can hear Lucy singing a Dua Lipa song, so out of tune that it’s hilarious.

Louis loves her so much he can barely stand it sometimes.

“Hello, darling,” Louis says with the widest grin, opening his arms wide for Niall to plop Lucy into them. He peppers her with kisses, laughing as she giggles and squeals and shoves at him playfully. “Hey, don’t pretend you don’t love your Uncle Louis, give me a kiss.”

“Uncle Louis, stop,” she giggles from under his armpit. She kisses his shoulder and then wriggles to sit more comfortably in his lap. “I think I’m ticklish.”

Louis pretends to mull it over. “Hmmm. I think so too.” He lightly digs his knuckles into her sides. “Shall we try that again to find out?”

“No!” she cackles, wiggling even harder to try and free herself from his grasp, jumping down from his lap and running to hide behind her father’s leg. “Daddy, tell Uncle Lou to not tickle me.”

Niall scoops her up. “Uncle Lou, don’t tickle Lucy here please, that’s my job.” Lucy shrieks and fights herself out of his arms, so Niall sets her down and lets her scuttle off back into the hallway. “She’s getting bloody big, ain’t she?”

“You’re telling me,” Louis says, flicking up the breaks on his chair so he can roll forward. “And she’s getting prettier by the day and all. You sure she’s yours?”

“Ha ha,” Niall says dryly, then flops down onto the sofa. “Very funny.”

“And how’s she doing, more importantly?” Louis asks, rolling a bit closer. “She been okay since the other week?”

A couple of weeks ago, little Lucy had collapsed in her classroom after a PE lesson, skin turning blue and her little hands and feet swelling as her body struggled to adjust itself after all that running around. Hailee had called Harry frantically because Niall had the car and she was stuck at work, so all three of them had ended up rushing to the local hospital to see her. They’d been told that she’d developed a respiratory tract infection, which is not an uncommon occurrence in kids with a congenital heart disease, and her taking part in PE had pushed her little body over the edge of what it was able to cope with at that time. Lucy was kept in hospital overnight for observation, advised not to take part in PE for the rest of the term, and given another set of antibiotics to take.

It breaks Louis’s heart to see Lucy struggle in so many aspects of her little life. She’s in and out of these hospital appointments and therapy sessions on a weekly basis, and her parents are forced to spend so much time and energy on making sure she’s safe. He knows how much of a toll her condition takes on Niall and Hailee as well, how many tears have been shed and how many nights they’ve spent awake worrying and the strain it’s put on their relationship with one another, but they’re honestly the strongest people Louis knows. He can’t imagine going through what they’ve been through and he’s in a wheelchair, for crying out loud.

“She’s okay, I think,” Niall says quietly. He rings his hands together. “Hailee’s been crying a lot, bless her. She’s found this last incident quite hard, but I think Lucy’s kinda forgotten about it already, to be fair. She seemed quite excited about not having to do PE again too.”

Louis snorts. “Like father, like daughter.”

“Well, true,” Niall says. “But she’s only a kid, you know? Kids shouldn’t feel like they can’t run around and be kids.” He groans. “I just want her to be a kid so bad.”

“She is a kid, Ni. She’s a great kid.”

Niall sighs. “I know, I know.” He straightens up. “She’s my kid, man, of course she’s a great kid.” He shrugs again. “I hate how much this is affecting Hails though. Last time really got to her and I get it, I do, but she’s barely letting the kid out her sight now. I dunno, Lou, I don’t know what to do.”

The cry of “Uncle Louis, Uncle Louis!” cuts off Louis’s reply, and he rubs his knuckles over Niall’s knee briefly before turning to Lucy as she comes charging back through the door, a toy in each hand.

“Whatcha got there, nugget?”

On her tail are Harry and Hailee, a loose arm thrown around her shoulders as she rests her head on his arm. Clearly they’ve been having a similar conversation to the one he’s just been having with Niall. Louis shoots her a brief smile before turning back to Lucy.

“Are those pirates?”

“Yeah!” she shrieks delightedly, waving the plastic figurine around dangerously close to Louis’s eyeballs. He goes cross-eyed and she laughs even louder. “Look, Uncle Lou, this one is my favourite one.”

“Lucy, no toys near faces,” Hailee warns, but instead of sounding fond in her sternness as she usually would, she just sounds exhausted. “We’ve talked about this, honey.”

“Sorry,” Lucy says, not sounding sorry at all. She’s just so like her father sometimes it’s uncanny. “Do you wanna play?”

“Um… oh, sweetheart, you know my hands don’t work like normal hands,” Louis says ever so gently, heart sinking a bit. He feels everyone else in the room go a bit tense and he _hates_ that. “I’d love to play but my hands won’t let me.”

“That’s okay,” Lucy says like it’s not a big deal, with her pure, unadulterated innocence that makes him love her even more. “I can be the pirates and you can do the voices.” Now silly voices _is_ something he can do. “Daddy, did you bring the ship in?”

“Yeah, darling,” Niall says softly, grinning between Louis and his little girl. “It’s in Mummy’s big bag in the hallway. You can get it if you like.”

“Be right back, Uncle Lou.” She scampers off, socked feet skidding a little on the hardwood floor, and Louis grins after her, heart warm.

“She looks more and more like you every day,” Harry comments, giving Hailee’s shoulders another squeeze.

“Yeah, and thank god it’s Hailee and not Niall,” Louis remarks, easily dodging the punch Niall throws his way. “And what kind of example is that for your baby girl, Horan?”

Lucy comes charging back in not seconds later, waving a rather large plastic pirate ship. Louis and her play for all of five minutes before she gets annoyed with how he does the voices and asks her dad for her Nintendo instead. She settles onto the sofa with it, telly on Cartoon Network in the background, as the four adults retreat to the kitchen for wine and a chat.

“Dinner will be in about 45 minutes,” Harry says, trotting over to the slow cooker and using a wooden spoon to poke at the contents. “Anyone for a snack in the meantime?”

“Nah,” Niall says as he pours himself a hearty glass of wine. Hailee must be driving then, even though she looks like she could use a stiff drink. Louis rolls himself into his usual space and nudges his glass towards Niall for him to pour him one. “Wanna save myself for your pulled pork.”

“I’ll have something small if you wouldn’t mind,” Hailee says. It’s the first time Louis’s properly heard her speak since she arrived and fucking hell, she does sound like she needs something, whether that be a stiff drink, good food, anything to take her mind off all the shit going on. “Just a bag of chips or whatever will do.”

Niall slings an arm around the back of her chair and Louis doesn’t miss the way his fingers dance over her elbow. She shuffles her chair and rests her head on his shoulder. He kisses her hair.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, glancing between Harry and Louis. “It’s been the longest fucking week of my life, it feels like.”

“I agree,” Niall groans. “I feel like I haven’t slept since last year.”

“What even is sleep?” Hailee agrees as she laces her fingers with Niall’s, resting their clasped hands on the table. “I swear to god, that child has no energy throughout the day and I feel awful for her, and then she’s wide awake at 1am buzzing with it and I just can’t understand it.”

“Has she been okay at school?” Harry asks, dropping a straw into Louis’s wine glass.

They both shrug. “She still seems happy enough,” Hailee says. “They’re learning about dinosaurs at the moment which has quickly become her favourite thing.” She takes a long pull of her wine. “But it seems to burn her out. Like she’ll be fine all day, I’ll pick her up and she’ll fall asleep in the car on the way home and then suddenly it’s the middle of the night and she’s raring to go again.”

“It’s like we’ve still got a baby,” Niall says with a sigh. “You should be asleep when they’re asleep and all that.”

“You poor things,” Harry says sympathetically. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Feed us,” Hailee says, cracking a small smile. “Keep my wine glass topped up. That kind of thing helps.” Niall kisses the top of her head. “Nah, alright, let’s talk about other things,” she says, waving her hand. “How’s your week been, darlings? How’s work?”

Conversation flows easily between them as it always has, and pretty soon Harry’s serving them up steaming bowls of food, with some fresh bread in the centre of the table. Lucy gets her own spot at the table and joins in the chatter as best a kid her age can and it’s a lovely evening all round, despite how obviously drained both Hailee and Niall are.

Louis wishes he could do something.

And so does Harry, clearly, because he jumps in and finally asks something that they’ve been talking about together for a few months now but haven’t actually spoken to Niall nor Hailee about.

“Hey,” he says towards the end of the evening, when bowls have been cleared away and replaced with ice cream cones. He covers Louis’s hand where it’s sitting on the table and beams wide and bright over to Lucy, who’s now made her way into her father’s lap and is curled up against his chest, getting ice cream on his shirt. “Hey Lucy Lou, would you fancy a sleepover party with your two favourite uncles some time soon?”

Her little mouth drops open. So does Niall’s, but for a different reason. “Haz…”

“No, seriously,” Harry continues, glancing at Louis briefly. Louis nods. “If you ever want a sleepover party here with me and Lou then you’re more than welcome.”

“Harry, I…”

“Yayyy!” Lucy shrieks before Niall can get any more words in. Louis waggles his eyebrows in his direction triumphantly, because if there’s one thing in life Niall is terrible at, it’s denying his baby girl anything. “Daddy, Mummy, can we have one tonight?”

Both Niall and Hailee’s eyes go wide and they open their mouths at the same time, but Harry beats them to it.

“Not tonight, darling,” he says, shaking his head. “Your Uncle Louis and I are busy tomorrow so I won’t be able to make you breakfast and we don’t want to have a sleepover without breakfast, do we?”

She pouts. “Okay,” she grumbles, settling a little in her dad’s lap. “But when though?”

“Your Mummy and I will sort it,” Niall tells her quickly, kissing the top of her head. “Come on, lovely, finish your ice cream.”

“But _when,_ Daddy?”

Niall sighs. “I… I don’t know yet, baby. Soon though, I promise it’ll be soon”

Louis and Harry don’t even bother trying to be subtle when they fist bump, and when Niall goes to not-so-subtly flip them off over his daughter’s head Hailee smacks him, which makes them both giggle and snicker louder than they should.

Lucy ends up falling asleep not long after, so Niall goes and lays her on the sofa. The second her daughter’s out the room Hailee turns to the pair with a look of pure fire.

“What the fuck, you two?” she hisses. She runs a hand through her hair. “What have you done that for?”

Harry raises his eyebrows at her. “To give you two some free time, darling.” He shrugs. “It’ll do you two some good.”

“But she’s such a handful in the evenings, I just told you,” Hailee says, slumping in her seat. She reaches for her wine again but doesn’t drink it. “It isn’t fair to dump that on you, especially because… well. No offence, Lou, but you can’t exactly chase her, can you?”

Louis snorts loudly. “Yeah, maybe not, but she’ll listen to us, I reckon. It’s because you’re her parents, innit? She knows how far she can push you.”

Niall comes back into the room then, sliding into his chair and winding his arm around his wife again. “What the fuck, you two?”

“Listen,” Harry says gently, reaching across the table to squeeze Hailee’s hand where it’s resting over her wine glass. “Lou and I have discussed this already. We want to do this for you. No, we _want_ to,” he says sharply, pointing at Niall when he goes to open his mouth. “I’m not going to argue here.”

“Haz and I are both aware that he’d be doing the bulk of the work,” Louis tacks on, because he knows that was the point Hailee was trying to make in a much more tactful way. “I made that point too.”

“And honestly you deserve the time off,” Harry finishes. “We’re not saying it’ll become a once a week thing but like. We can trial it once and if she decides she hates it and wants me to drive her home then I will. If she decides she loves it we can talk about doing it more often, yeah?”

Niall looks at Hailee and Hailee looks at Niall.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Hailee sighs out, resting her forehead on Niall’s shoulder. “Does it make me a bad mother if I agree that this does sound fucking appealing?”

Niall squeezes the back of her neck. “Only if I’m a bad father too.”

“Listen, the ball is one hundred percent in your court,” Louis says. “We only brought it up in front of Lucy because we knew there would be literally no chance of her letting you forget it. Just… think about it, will you?”

Hailee and Niall sigh in unison, which makes them all laugh.

“Okay,” Hailee eventually mumbles, her Californian drawl stretching the word out. “We’ll think about it.”

And it ends up coming around quicker than Louis anticipated, because Niall rings him the following week and sheepishly asks if they’d want to take Lucy on the Thursday night.

“For our, um, anniversary,” he mumbles, and Louis frowns.

“But you got married in August.”

“Not that anniversary,” Niall mutters, and _oh._

“You fucking animal,” Louis says with a big fat smirk on his face. “Of course we’ll take her.”

“Thanks,” Niall says gruffly. Louis can tell he’s gone bright red in the face, bless him. “Don’t tell Hailee yet though, if she asks. I wanna try and, like, make the night a bit of a surprise.”

“Obviously,” Louis tuts. “Nah, my lips are sealed. I’ll let Harry know and we’ll start planning.”

They (and they means Harry) turn the living room into a den of sorts, with a mattress in the middle surrounded by tons of pillows and blankets and stuffed toys Louis didn’t even know they had (they didn’t have them) (Harry went out and bought them specifically). Harry also gets all the trappings for homemade pizza, making dough from scratch that morning before coming back from Asda with bags and bags of cheese, ham, mushrooms and sweetcorn, as well as plenty of snacks for a movie night.

“Jesus, Harry, she’s only one tiny child,” Louis tells him sternly as Harry frantically starts unpacking all the shit. “She won’t care if you’re unpacking shopping when she’s here.” He warily eyes the three giant bags of crisps Harry’s now unloading onto the countertop. “And also, how much stuff do you think she’s going to eat?”

“I like to be prepared,” Harry sniffs. “Fuck’s _sake._ I still have all this shit to chop and put in the princess bowls and the…”

“Princess bowls?” Louis asks, covering his mouth with his hand to cover a laugh. “Oh, babe. You’re actually so adorable.”

“Not now, Louis,” Harry snaps, waving him off. “I have too much shit to do for you to do… that thing you do.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Woah, alright. What thing is that please?”

“That thing where you try and butter me up and then I don’t actually get that much done,” Harry says, running a hand through his now-limp hair. “I just want it to be perfect, okay?”

“Harry, I know,” Louis tuts. “There’s no need to be a prick, babe. Just because I can’t, like, physically help doesn’t mean you have to dismiss me entirely though.”

Harry sighs. “I’m not,” he says forlornly, then slams both his hands onto the counter. “I’m just stressing, like, a little bit. I dunno why.”

“Yeah, I dunno why either,” Louis tells him, rolling round the kitchen so he’s trapping Harry against the cupboard, arms either side of his knees. “It’s only Lucy, darling. And it’s only Niall and Hailee. They know us, they trust us, please get out of your head.”

Harry sighs and sags against the counter. “Urgh, I know, I know. I just want it to be a success, you know? I want this to be something we feel we can offer out on the regular, something both Niall and Hailee feel okay with saying yes to.”

“They do,” Louis assures, stroking a fist up Harry’s thigh. “I know you, Haz, and you’re gonna make it a success whether anyone else likes it or not.”

It is a success, of course, and nowhere near as much hassle as Niall or Hailee had painted it out to be. They both show up to drop her off in Hailee’s beat up little Mini wearing clothes Louis hasn’t seen either of them wear in years - Niall’s wearing a _blazer_ , for fuck’s sake, and Hailee’s wearing a sleek black jumpsuit with red heels. She looks beautiful and they walk towards the door with their hands clasped tight, and Louis has to smile. He knows how big of a deal this is for them and he’s proud and pleased they’re letting him and Harry do this.

Lucy runs straight towards them and clambers right into Louis’s lap, throwing her arms around his neck. “Uncle Louis!”

“Hey, darling,” he coos, wrapping his arms around her and settling her so she’s seated. “How’s my bestest friend in the whole world?”

“I’m so excited!” she screeches, clapping her hands together. “I have been looking forward to this my whole entire life.”

“Really? ‘Cos so have I!” Louis beams. “And so has Uncle Harry.”

“Where’s my cuddle?” Harry says, and he pretends to look upset. “I can’t believe I didn’t get a cuddle on sleepover day!”

Lucy scrabbles to get down off of Louis’s lap and takes a running jump towards Harry, who catches her like she weighs nothing and plonks her so she’s sat on his shoulders. “Uncle Harry,” she shrieks, kicking her little feet out in delight. “This isn’t a hug!”

“Lucy, no kicking,” Niall warns, pointing a finger at her. She points back and sticks out her tongue. “Oi, madam. I’ll take you straight home again. I will.”

“Okay, sorry, Daddy,” she rushes out, then cuddles her arms around Harry’s neck. “Sorry, Uncle Harry.”

“That’s okay, chicken,” Harry says. “Why don’t we go inside, yeah? Guess what we’re having for dinner?”

She gasps. “What?”

“Pizzaaa,” Harry yells, then ducks them under the front door and runs inside. They can still hear them shouting once they reach the kitchen, and Louis snorts.

“I just don’t know who’s more excited.”

“It’s me,” Niall says, winding an arm around Hailee’s waist, and she grins and presses a kiss onto his cheek. “And maybe her.”

“Definitely me as well,” Hailee says, shrugging. “I feel so guilty but, like, _fuck_ , I’m so excited for a good fuck.”

Niall’s eyes go wide and his cheeks bright red, and Louis roars with laughter. He forgets sometimes just how brash Hailee can be without her kid around.

“Same,” he hears Niall whisper, and the pair share a quick kiss. Louis groans.

“Get outta here, you horny teenagers.”

“Her bedtime is half 7, 8 at an absolute stretch,” Hailee tells him. “Please don’t give her too many sweets either. Her meds are in the left pocket of the bag, she needs one with her food and one first thing in the morning. Anything else, call me. But thank you so much Lou, we love you!”

“Nice one, mate!” Niall calls, already back in the car. “See ya tomorrow!”

Louis laughs again as he waves them off, then spins on his wheels and rolls back towards the kitchen where Harry and Lucy are decorating a giant pizza base to look like a smiley face.

She definitely has a lot more energy than Harry or Louis is used to, but that’s just because she’s so excited to be here. She runs around with her Bratz dolls and yells excitedly when Harry suggests pulling up the movie on Netflix, but only once she’s promised to put on her pyjamas and eat her dinner nicely.

Which she does, chomping on her pizza that Harry sets on a tray for her on the sofa. She eats it and ignores the film, chatting animatedly away to her uncles about her friends from nursery. Once she’s finished her pizza Harry fetches her some strawberries and ice cream, then once she finishes those he convinces her to get into bed and cuddle up to him and the stuffed penguin he bought for her to watch the rest of the film.

She promptly falls asleep, and Harry carefully peels himself out from underneath her, pressing a soft kiss onto her forehead before he stands.

Louis watches all this from the sofa, a funny feeling stirring in his chest. This feels… awfully domestic and, well, normal, and he doesn’t really know what to make of it.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, flopping down on the sofa, resting his head on Louis’s shoulder, curling an arm around his waist.

“You’re gonna make a fucking great dad one day.” Louis can’t help but blurt out at him. “A really fucking great one.”

“Don’t swear,” Harry admonishes, but there’s no fire behind it. He squeezes Louis tighter, pulling him even closer to him, and they carry on watching Bratz: The Movie together in a warm, comfortable silence long after Lucy has fallen asleep.

There are tears when Hailee comes to collect Lucy the following morning because she doesn’t want to leave. Hailee takes it her stride, however, scooping her daughter up and promising her that she can do this again soon.

“Right, Uncle Harry? Uncle Louis?” she asks carefully, like she’s worried they’re going to say no. Like they ever could say no to either of them, _honestly._

“Of course,” Harry says brightly, leaning forward to kiss Lucy on the cheek. “You’re welcome anytime, darling. Just make sure you ask your Mummy and Daddy first.”

“But I’m gonna miss you,” Lucy whines petulantly, then starts crying even harder. “I want to stay, Mummy!”

Hailee sighs, but she seems a lot less exasperated than usual, more just fond. Clearly the night away with Niall did her some good, and even though Louis can’t rib her about it like he wants to in front of Lucy, he shoots her a knowing smile.

(While trying not to wince at any of Lucy’s loud, piercing sobs.)

“Come on, baby,” Hailee says gently, hoisting her up higher. “Your Daddy’s home today and he’s taking you swimming.”

She stops crying almost straight away. “Yeah?” she hiccups, rubbing at her eye with a fist. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Hailee parrots, then rolls her eyes over her daughter’s head. “That was easy enough, wasn’t it?” She turns back to Harry and Louis. “How was she, everything okay?”

“She was brilliant,” Harry says, ruffling her hair. “She’s welcome back anytime.”

“The second weekend of August, maybe?” Louis hints, which earns him a glare. “How does that sound?”

“Fuck off,” she mouths, then grins sweetly when Lucy tugs on her hair to get her attention. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Want to go swimming,” Lucy mumbles. “Can we go now?”

“You wanted to move in a minute ago,” Hailee says with a sigh, but she sets Lucy down and takes her hand anyway. “Say thank you, Lucy.”

“Thank youuu,” Lucy screeches, drawing out the word, then runs over and wraps herself around Harry’s leg. “Can we come back next week?”

“Okay, let’s get going,” Hailee says loudly. “Say byeee!”

“Byeee!”

Louis and Harry both stay waving from the front door as Hailee loads Lucy into her booster seat before she drives them away. They wave and wave like they won’t see them for ages (even though they’re seeing them on Sunday) and when they’re off the driveway and out of sight they both sigh in unison before Harry bends down and gives Louis a quick peck on the lips.

“That was fun.”

“It was,” Louis admits, wheeling backwards so Harry can shut the front door. He follows Harry into the living room, which is still a mess of blankets and cuddly toys. “We’re gonna do this again, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah, course we are.”

“Good, because that was so much fun,” Louis says with a grin. “And easy, don’t you think? I think we’ll make excellent parents.”

“Alright, slow down, eager beaver,” Harry says, chuckling nervously. He turns his back on Louis as he starts folding the blankets.  “One thing at a time, yeah?”

“I’m teasing,” Louis says, but he’s also kind of not. Something about how good Harry was with Lucy has really stirred something in him he didn’t know he had, or maybe it was something he’s always had but hasn’t ever thought about. That ultimately doesn’t matter - what matters is he’s mildly turned on and Harry’s on the other side of the room, and that simply won’t do. “Although watching you be so good with Lucy has made me feel a certain type of way.” He grins coyly when Harry spins around, brows raised. “Come here, will you?”

Harry moves over to him, still looking bemused. “A certain type of way, eh?”

“Yeah,” Louis says breathily, pulling Harry closer once he’s in reach. “Daddy.”

Harry bursts out laughing. “Really? _That_ turns you on? After all this time?” he says, but he tangles his fingers into Louis’s hair regardless, tilting his head up. “Is it a daddy thing or a Daddy thing?”

“Neither,” Louis hums, licking his lips. “ _You_ turn me on. Wanna go make out?”

The pile of blankets may or may not get defiled that afternoon, and the next time Lucy sleeps her unicorn duvet cover has mysteriously been replaced by a My Little Pony one.

It’s never mentioned again.

*

“Baby?”

Louis nudges his glasses further up his nose before he turns his chair around, smiling when he sees Harry trudging through the door in his gym clothes, a Starbucks in each hand. “Hi, darling.”

“Hello,” Harry says brightly, setting the cups down on Louis’s desk before leaning down to give Louis a quick kiss. “I bought you the fancy tea.”

Louis grins even wider. “Aw, thanks, darling,” he says, rolling forward so he can grab a straw from one of his desk drawers. He doesn’t always need a straw these days, but it’s just easier with hot drinks so he doesn’t run the risk of accidentally knocking it down himself. “How was your run?”

“Exhausting,” Harry says. He’s dripping with sweat - Louis can see just how damp his hair is, and he’s wearing grey, which isn’t the most forgiving workout colour - but he sits himself down in Louis’s armchair anyway, reaching for his own drink (iced black coffee). “I pushed a little harder today because we had that takeaway last night, and I really want to get my mile to seven minutes.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “And how do you suggest I go about burning off that takeaway, hmmm?”

“Oh, I’m sure I can arrange something,” Harry says coyly, waggling his eyebrows, and Louis laughs and shakes his head. “Not that you need to, of course. You’re perfect just as you are.”

Louis pretends to vomit into his Starbucks cup, turning back to his desk and clicking back onto his browser. “I’m not even going to entertain that with an answer, you twat.”

Harry laughs again, and they end up sitting for a while in comfortable silence while Louis cracks back on with work. Harry’s only part-time at his job these days so he’s home a lot more in case Louis needs anything. Louis likes the fact that he’s around a lot more now he’s forced to work from home too, partly because he thinks any time with Harry is time well spent, but also because they get to enjoy each other’s company like this; no pressures, no forced conversation, just being around each other.

And then his stomach rumbles, snapping him out of his work daze for a bit. Harry kisses him on the forehead before he disappears into the kitchen for a bit, then comes back with two big bowls of Louis’s favourite pasta. Louis wheels back and let’s Harry shift some stuff around so they can use his desk as a makeshift dining table and they eat away, chatting lightly about their plans to see Anne and Gemma next week.

After lunch, Louis gets back into working and Harry brings his laptop into Louis’s study, and he takes up his place on the armchair again, where they both work until Louis honestly can’t be arsed anymore. He saves his document, slams the lid of his laptop shut, and spins around, wheeling himself over to Harry at speed. “Let’s go do something now, yeah?”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “What do you wanna do?”

“Anything,” Louis says, eyes glinting. “I wanna take you out somewhere nice, let’s go somewhere nice.”

“Like on a date?”

“Like on a date,” Louis confirms, knocking Harry’s boney knees with his fists. It’s only then he twigs that Harry’s still in his running gear from this morning, and hasn’t even showered yet. That’s the sign of a couple who are too comfortable around one another, he’s sure. “But only if you go and shower first, you disgusting layabout.”

Harry laughs, leaning forward to peck Louis’s lips once, twice, three times. “Alright, I suppose I can’t argue with that.” He stands up. “Come with me and we’ll decide where we wanna go?”

Harry obligingly showers as Louis books them a table for two for one of their favourite local restaurants on his iPad, then with a little help and a fresh spritz of deodorant, he changes into a button down shirt instead of his hoodie, then Harry helps him swap his bed socks for Converse. It’s not exactly a Michelin Star restaurant, where they’re going, but since his accident Louis’s found himself becoming just a little bit vainer, keen to be the Hot Guy in the Wheelchair if he has to be the Guy in the Wheelchair at all.

That’s always been an issue lurking in the back of his mind though, even before his injury. Harry’s fucking gorgeous, and now he’s making more of an effort with his fitness (which is partly for himself and partly so he’s strong enough to lift and carry Louis when he needs to) he’s more gorgeous than he’s ever been. And Louis loves it, he really does. He loves the way Harry can lazily carry him from room to room if he wants to these days, he loves looking at the tanned slope of his back and the thick muscles in his arms when they’re showering or doing physio together, and he certainly loves curling up against Harry’s warm chest before he goes to sleep...

But he doesn’t miss the way that people almost always address Harry before they address him, the way that people’s faces often fall for the smallest of seconds when they realise that Harry is, in fact, romantically involved with the lad in the wheelchair rather than just doing him a service by pushing him around. And it would hurt a lot more, Louis thinks, but he’s so incredibly lucky because he is so, _so_ confident in his relationship, but sometimes, just sometimes, he misses getting attention from others, to be reminded he’s actually a catch himself.

And Harry’s amazing, he really is, because sometimes Louis gets all in his head about things like this, particularly when they’re going out, and he’s so good at pulling Louis out of it. “Hey,” he murmurs to him, standing in front of his chair and resting his hands on Louis’s cheeks, grinning down at him brilliantly. “You look hot as fuck, baby. I’d totally do you.”

And Louis has to laugh, honestly, because sometimes he get so caught up in his own head but Harry always knows exactly what to say to bring him back to Earth. “So do you,” he titters, resting his own hands on top of Harry’s and, instead of squeezing them like he used to, he scratches his nails over them lightly, which has become his kind of alternative to that. “You look very suave, darling. It’s amazing what a bit of soap and water can do.”

Harry pretends to frown, face pulled into such a contorted scowl that Louis has to tug him down and kiss him, he just has to. After a minute of snogging he gently pulls back, then kisses Harry’s nose, each cheek, and then his chin.

“I love you,” he says, very seriously.

“I love you too,” Harry replies with a grin, only wincing a little when he stands back upright and his back makes an almighty clicking sound. “ _Christ.”_

Now it’s Louis’s turn to frown. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want either.” He walks behind Louis to grab the handlebars of his chair, kissing the crown of his head before he starts to push. “Don’t stress.”

“I do stress though,” Louis says, picking up his legs and adjusting them a little. “Who would stink out my room with their day old gym sweat if you were to break your back too?”

Harry snorts dryly. “It’ll still be me, babe. It’ll still be me.”

It’s not as easy to talk when Harry’s pushing him because they can’t always hear what the other is saying, but when they get to the car and Harry scoops Louis out of his chair bridal style and straps him into the passenger seat, then they’re on level ground again and conversation can resume. “So where did you book for us to go?”

“The nice mediterranean restaurant by the river,” Louis calls, twisting his head so Harry can hear him as he folds up his chair and slides it into the boot. “Fancied a steak and some of those really good dough ball thingies.”

“Such a good shout,” Harry says, voice a little muffled, and then he slides into the driver’s seat and fumbles with the keys. “Do you wanna do something after that too? Maybe go and see a film or something?”

“Yeah, we totally could,” Louis hums. “We can check what’s on at the cinema and times and stuff when we get there.”

It’s only a ten minute or so drive into the city centre and it passes quickly, the pair chatting lazily about how well Lottie’s new brand is going, then before they know it they’re pulling into the car park. Harry finds one of the larger blue badge spaces and parks up, then ruffles a squawking Louis’s hair before he gets out the car and hoicks his wheelchair out the back.

“Ready?”

“Yep,” Louis answers, voice only a little strained as his whole body is hoisted up and out the car. Harry sets him carefully into his chair, crouching down so Louis can use his shoulders as some leverage so he can get himself comfortable. Then he’s strapped in, his feet are adjusted comfortably onto his foot plate, and with a brief nod of affirmation the pair set off towards the restaurant.

They’re greeted by a friendly waitress with a bright smile, who happily maneuvers chairs and tables out of their way so they can get to their own, which is nice and secluded towards the back, tucked in a corner and overlooking the water feature outside. She easily moves the chair closest to them out the way so Louis can slide in, then Harry takes his seat opposite, smiling privately as Louis manages to flick the menu open on the first go.

“Can I get you both some drinks?” the waitress asks. Her name tag reads Gina. “And some bread for the table?”

“That would be great, thank you,” Louis says with a nod. “And I’ll have a gin & tonic please. Haz?”

“A half lager shandy please.”

Gina nods and doesn’t bother to write it down. She scuttles off and Louis grins over at Harry one more time before he looks down at his menu, even though they both know he’s going to have the same thing he always has when they’re out.

“Do you fancy some garlic bread with the cheese and tomato coulis?” Harry asks, reaching for Louis’s hand across the table. “And let me guess? Medium rare, no peas, extra mushroom?”

Louis snorts. “Yes, alright, I’m a creature of habit. Sue me.”

“The only thing I’m gonna be suing you for is looking too damn good in that shirt,” Harry tells him, his face the picture of sincerity, which only serves to make Louis groan louder.

“What a fucking line, Styles.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows. “Is it working? Do I get to take you home tonight?”

“I’ll think about it,” Louis murmurs, scratching at Harry’s hand briefly as Gina comes back over with their drinks. “Have you decided what you’re having, love?”

Harry nods and reels off both their orders. Louis goes to take a sip of his drink and realises there’s no straw, and he shuffles uncomfortably in his chair because he hates having to ask for one.

“Oh, and can we have a straw for our drinks please?” Harry tacks on the end, smiling brightly as he folds both of their menus closed and hands them back to Gina. “Thank you so much.”

Louis offers her a tight smile, one that he doesn’t mean to be so tight, but he _hates_ how much he still lets this stuff get to him even though he knows they mean no harm or foul. And it’s no big deal, he knows that, but it can be in his head and he hates it.

“Baby,” Harry mutters lowly, squeezing his hand back. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Louis says petulantly.

“It’s only a straw,” Harry reminds him, thumb stroking over his knuckles. Louis sighs and nods. “Okay? Please smile for me.”

The smile Louis pastes on is wide and fake, and it has them both dissolving into a fit of giggles as Gina comes back over with their straws. “Here we are, sorry about that,” she apologises, which Louis quickly shrugs off. “Do you want your garlic bread cutting up in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, that would be great, thank you,” Louis croaks. Harry beams at him. “And, um, could you cut up my steak as well, would that be okay?”

“Absolutely,” Gina says with another nod. “Are you both okay for drinks?”

They both murmur a quick affirmation and she disappears off again, their empty wine glasses in hand. Louis turns back to Harry and offers a real, soft smile. “Shut up.”

Harry holds up his free hand in defence. “I didn’t say a word.”

Louis sticks out his tongue. “Good boy. I’m glad you know better now.”

Their meal is delicious and decadent and after a huge sticky chocolate brownie that Harry sneers at, Louis decides they’re going to start going out for dinner like this at least once a week.

“Once a week, eh?” Harry says, licking at the spoon he’s been using to shovel strawberries and ice cream into his gob. “You want to spend time with me that often?”

“Hard to believe, I know,” Louis says dryly. “But yes, I do.” He grins dopily. “I want to spend time with you like this, where you’re my boyfriend rather than my carer and where we can just talk about shit and eat good food and be a normal couple for a bit.” He shrugs. “That alright with you, sir?”

“That sounds more than alright to me.” Harry’s beaming, and he puts down the spoon to squeeze Louis’s hand tightly. “Oooh, and we can start going to nicer places and call it my job.”

Louis snorts and then pretends to pout. “You not gonna treat your man like I deserve? You’re really gonna take me to nice places and then claim our meals on company expenses?”

“I treat you plenty.” Harry’s intense scowl looks so ridiculous that Louis can’t work out if it’s real or not. “You’re so rude to me.”

Louis rolls his eyes again. “And I treat you plenty, hence me suggesting this weekly thing. I wasn’t going to make you pay for it, babe. I make more than enough money to take you to nice places on the regular.”

To reiterate his point, he pays for the meal and leaves a generous tip while Harry’s in the loo, which ends up with him getting snogged as Harry helps him back into the car.

“For the record, I love it when you treat me.”

“Mmmm, gotta give you at least one reason to keep me around,” Louis hums, giving him another quick peck on the lips. “Do you wanna go and see that film?”

Harry shrugs. “Do you want to go and see that film?”

Louis shakes his head. “Not really, no.” Harry nods and strolls around to the driver’s side, getting back in the car. “I wanna go home and cuddle up with Bake Off instead, is that alright?”

“More than alright.” Harry’s grinning as he starts up the car, flicking his hair behind his shoulders. “Hey, I have a question. Do you think I should cut my hair?”

“Um?” Louis asks incredulously. Now, that’s a question that catches him off guard. “Seriously?”

“I… yeah, seriously.” Harry’s blushing, skin hot under Louis’s gaze but Louis refuses to look anywhere else, not when his boyfriend is going to spring stupid fucking questions like that on him. “I dunno, I just fancy a change. A spruce up, if you will.” He shrugs again. “But if you don’t like the idea then I won’t do it.”

“I… I dunno, I’ve not ever considered it a thing.” Louis’s still watching him carefully. “I’m… I guess it just caught me off guard, I dunno. I’m… I guess I’m just confused because you’ve spent so many years growing it. I just never thought you’d get rid of it.”

“Me neither,” Harry admits. “But. Maybe.” He finally meets Louis’s gaze at they pause at some traffic lights. “Give it some thought for me, will you?”

“Hey,” Louis says softly, running his knuckles over Harry’s shoulder. He didn’t mean to come across so harshly, but he just can’t imagine his Harry without his trademark curls. “If you want to then you should. My opinion doesn’t matter much, does it?”

“Well, it matters more than anyone else’s.”

“Listen,” Louis tells him sternly. “It’s going to take more than you cutting your hair for me to leave you, I hope you know that.” He snorts, then runs his hand down to rub at Harry’s hip.  “Live your best life, my darling.”

Harry snorts as he turns onto the dual carriageway. “Okay, love, okay. I’ll give it some thought. No rash decisions today.”

“Good boy,” Louis says, and then, “hey, you wanna have sex instead of watching Bake Off?”

Harry’s laughter rings loud and raucous through the car.

The following week the pair go to a Chinese restaurant near the river, dining on duck pancakes and fresh prawns and beautiful white wine. The week after that they bring Lottie and her boyfriend Tommy to a brasserie, where they drink craft ale and eat the best sausages and mash Louis’s ever had. As summer carries on they go to more and more new places, beer gardens and fancy restaurants, even a vineyard, and it’s so much fun. It’s nice to go out and explore and try new stuff, and even better that they start getting an excuse to go to more unique and elaborate places for Harry’s work.

Harry’s food column is really starting to take off again since he took an indefinite hiatus after Louis’s accident. He’d started his food blog way back in their university days, reviewing small independents in the city that were within a student budget, and over time that had grown into something much bigger than he’d ever anticipated. He was picked up by a national newspaper just before graduating, which was wild and exciting and terrifying all at once, and Louis had never been prouder. He was being published within two months of starting there and the whole thing had just snowballed, and it was incredible to be a part of.

Before the accident he was working crazy hours and crazy days, getting out four to five reviews a week for restaurants all over the country. It was getting to the point where top name chefs were emailing Harry’s team inviting him (and sometimes a plus one) to new eateries all over the country, hoping he’d come and give them a glowing review. He was slowly but steadily climbing to the top of his game, with a hell of a lot of followers on social media and weekly hits in the six figures.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when Harry got an invite to Paris either. He had planned to go, even booking a hotel on his own credit card so he could stay an extra couple of days. But then a few days before he was meant to fly out Louis’s injury had happened, and he’d cancelled the trip and never rescheduled. They’d never really talked about it, and in hindsight Louis should have anticipated that now things are picking up for him again he might get invited further afield again, but this catches him completely off guard.

He never means for it to be a big deal, not then and certainly not now. He’s never been very good at being apart from Harry, even back when he was at university and Harry was still in Sixth Form, but he never wanted his neediness (something he’d deny until he was blue in the face anyway) to hold Harry back, and it _shouldn’t._ He could be a bit of a pissbaby and maybe bombard Harry with too many text messages when he would go away for a few nights, but it was always in good humour. He never actually meant he had to stay home and babysit him, for crying out loud.

But now it’s a different ball game and they both know it. Louis needs constant attention in a different way and it’s not feasible for Harry to just call and say he’s been offered a gig down in London so he’ll be away for the night because Louis literally can’t even open the door to the kitchen without help, let alone take a shower, cook a meal or get himself ready for bed.

It’s not his fault but it’s one of those things that feels like his fault, and when Harry returns home late and in a funny mood even Lottie, who’d been Louis’s assistant for the day, gives him a wide berth. He seems tired, irritated and his mind is definitely elsewhere. And Louis doesn’t know what to make of it so he does what he always ends up doing - he keeps his mouth shut, knowing that Harry will tell him when he’s ready to tell him.

They had plans to go out for dinner, as they do every Tuesday, but Louis finds himself hanging back, almost unsure of whether they’ll actually be going. But Harry reappears into his office with a fresh outfit and a tight smile, and Louis can’t be arsed to argue.

They head to a new Italian that’s opened on the other side of their town. This isn’t a work trip for Harry; they had seen it advertised on Facebook and they’d just fancied it, and Louis is glad. He’s pretty sure Harry’s shitty mood is because something shitty happened at work today (Harry always hates his one long day a week in the office) and he hopes that a nice, chilled out meal where he’s not got any added pressure will ease him out of it.

Boy, was he wrong.

“So I had this, um, this meeting at work today,” Harry mumbles once they’ve sat down and ordered, and something about the tone in which he says it makes Louis’s stomach drop. By now Harry would have taken his hands across the table or something else dumb and affectionate like that but tonight he can’t seem to even look Louis in the eye.

“And?” he croaks, unsure of what to expect from Harry’s answer.

“They want me to go to New York in February,” he says, then finally looks up. “For two weeks.”

Louis blinks at him. “That’s it? That’s what you’ve had me worried for over an hour about?”

Harry frowns, blinking at him a few times. “What do you mean, that’s it?”

Louis has to laugh. “So you’re going to New York on a business trip. That’s fucking _sick,_ Haz. When in Feb?” He gasps. “Not over Zayn and Liam’s wedding, I hope?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, thankfully not. No, I’d be here for my birthday and the wedding.”

Louis nods and shrugs. “So what’s the problem?”

“Well, I can’t go, can I?” Harry says, and he sounds frustrated. Louis’s stomach drops again. “Unless you can come with me, of course.”

“What?” Louis says incredulously, a little too loud for their restaurant setting. But the question and the tone in which Harry asked the question really caught him off guard. He lowers his voice a little as he says, “why not?”

“You know why, Louis,” Harry hisses. He looks tense, like he doesn’t want to say it out loud.

“Oh, because I need you to look after me,” Louis says, tone flat. He’s already annoyed and with that his defences have gone straight up. “And that’s why I need to come. Not because you want to go to New York with me, but because you need to get me dressed and wipe my arse.”

“Well, yes?” Harry says, cheeks flaming, phrasing it like a question. If Louis could kick him right now he would.

“I have a mother too, you know,” he tuts, crossing his arms defensively. “And a sister and some very good friends. Liam Payne? Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

“Please don’t get snippy with me,” Harry says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not like I don’t know that, is it? It’s that… well, it’s partly that I want you to come with me, but…”

“But?”

“But I’d obviously need to check with work regarding expenses and stuff,” Harry says. “I want you to come but I don’t want to take the piss.”

Louis’s mouth drops open. “Did you… did you really just say that? Wow, Harry.”

“Look, I feel like I can’t win here,” Harry snaps. “You’re right, I am your carer so yes, it isn’t feasible for me to just up and leave on a work trip. But also I want you to come with me because you’re my boyfriend and I love you and we’ve been talking about going to New York for fucking years, _but_ we both know it’ll come with some complications.”

“Right, okay,” Louis says hollowly, then shuts up when the waiter places their meals in front of them. He doesn’t really know what to say right now and he knows he isn’t always the most tactful when he’s pissed off, so he opts to focus on his linguine instead.

Thank fuck he chose a plate of food that he doesn’t need Harry’s help with.

The rest of the meal is awkward and the drive home is silent. Louis won’t even look Harry in the eye when he transfers him from chair to car and then car back to chair when they arrive back to their house. Once they’re inside he wheels himself straight to his office and closes the door behind him, something he never does regardless of whether Harry’s in the house or not.

He’s too tired to really focus on work so he answers a few of the emails he’s been putting off until there’s a weak knock on the door.

“Louis?” Harry calls without opening it. Louis stays quiet. “Can I come in?” There’s a heavy sigh and it sounds like a stamp of a foot. “I… I really hate the idea I upset you over this, Lou. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

Louis groans. “You can come in.”

Harry shuffles in sheepishly, lips pressed together and body hunched over. He does look fucking miserable, Louis has to admit, and he can’t work out if he’s been crying or not. And suddenly he feels awful, because ultimately everything Harry does comes from a good place, a loving place, it always does. It hurts to think he’s seen as a liability but at the end of the day he _knows_ he _is,_ and Harry shouldn’t have to feel bad about that. He’s never been very good at staying mad at his boyfriend, but especially not when it’s his own stupid fault.

“I’m so sorry, Lou,” Harry says, taking a seat on the chair next to Louis and reaching for his hands. He’s tentative, like he isn’t sure whether Louis is going to snatch his hands back or not but Louis doesn’t. “I wasn’t thinking when I spoke, and that’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is that we have to have these conversations at all,” Louis says hoarsely, nudging himself closer to Harry. “I want you to go to New York and I want you to feel like you can just take me places without having to apologise for me being this way.”

“Louis.” Harry gapes at him. “Louis, fuck me. That is not what I was saying in all this. Shit.” He sniffs and _fuck_ , maybe he is about to cry. “I meant it like I don’t want to go if you can’t go and they’ve offered to pay partner’s expenses if you can get the time off work. They know you’re in a chair, for fuck’s sake. They’ve just emailed me back and told me they need a list of the things you’ll need and they’ll get back to me within a week to see if it’s possible to get us a hotel and transport and shit like that.”

“Oh.” Louis keeps his gaze fixed on Harry’s hands “So what did you mean in the restaurant when you said you couldn’t go without me?”

“I mean… alright, I meant it like you took it,” Harry says forlornly after a pause. “I don’t… I dunno, I just don’t like the idea of me going away for a bit and having someone else do that for you, I dunno.”

Louis frowns. “Harry, that’s not fair.”

“I know,” Harry says, then uncurls his hand from Louis’s and uses it to gently knock his chin up so they’re looking into each other’s eyes. “I know it’s not fair. So I don’t really know why I feel this way.”

“That having to happen is inevitable,” Louis says. “Just because it hasn’t yet doesn’t mean it shouldn’t either.”

“I know,” Harry repeats. “And I feel guilty for feeling like that and I… I took it out on you, a little. I dunno why.” A tear escapes the corner of his eye. “Louis… I am so sorry I made you feel like shit like that. I’m just…” He bows his head, so Louis gently mirrors his actions from earlier, uses his fist to gently push Harry’s chin back up. “I don’t want to sound like a dick when I say this but I think I’m going to no matter how I word it.”

“Tell me,” Louis says, and it comes out more strangled than he means it to.

Harry takes a deep breath. “There’s a part of me… that would love a break.” He rushes out the last bit. When Louis’s eyes go wide he shakes his head frantically, then takes Louis’s face in his trembling hands. “Not, like, from our relationship or anything like that. Fuck no.” He stares into Louis’s eyes with such an intensity, with such a fierceness that Louis almost goes cross-eyed. “I love you so much and I want to be there for you every single step of the way. And I’ve been there every single morning for the past two years getting you out of bed and dressing you and doing everything but…” He sniffs again. “Some mornings I just wanna sleep in without the interruption of a nurse. Sometimes I just want to be able to lie how I wanna lie and have a duvet all to myself and be in a bed alone.” Another tear slides down his cheek and the guilt on his face is deep set when he says, “but I don’t want to leave you and I don’t want you to feel like that’s your fault, alright?”

“Harry, baby,” Louis says slowly, still trying to find his voice in all this. “I… that’s normal, babe. How can I be cross because you want something normal?”

Harry blinks. “Normal?”

“Baby.” Louis snorts a laugh. “Harry, my darling, _darling_ boy.” He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, pressing so close he definitely does go cross-eyed this time. “I fucking want that more than anything.”

There’s a pause. “ _What?”_

“I would literally love nothing more than to sleep on my fucking back,” Louis says, eyes dropping closed as he thinks about it. Stretched out, legs wide, arms lax by his side. It’s such a simple act yet it sounds like pure fucking bliss. “To sleep with a duvet of my own and to sleep the whole night through without waking up with a spasm, and then worrying I’m going to boot you in the shin because of the stupid spasm.” He laughs hollowly. “We’ve been around each other all day every single day for the best part of three years now, baby. That is too much time together.”

Harry chuckles wetly. “Oh,” he says weakly, and then, “you feel that way too?”

“Harry,” Louis groans, winding a tired arm around Harry’s neck and pulling him closer, resting their foreheads together. “I’m literally here 24/7, being essentially babysat 24/7. I fucking hate it sometimes.” He pauses. “No, scratch that. I fucking hate it the bulk of the time.”

Harry shrugs. “So what? Do… do you still want to come to New York?”

“I would love to go to New York with you,” Louis says honestly. “But I want you to have that time away without me there, I really do.”

Harry licks his lips. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Harry says again, then kisses him. Louis kisses back and he finds himself smiling into it. It really is impossible to stay mad at Harry, especially when all they’re both asking for is to go back to normality.

“I’m sorry I’m this way,” Harry mumbles when he pulls back, gently wiping at the corner of Louis’s mouth. Louis shakes his head.

“Sorry for wanting normal things? Don’t be daft.”

Harry goes red again. “Alright, fine. But…” He kisses Louis again quickly. “But if you think you’re not coming to New York with me then you’re the daft one.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “I thought we just agreed I’m not coming.”

“Well, maybe,” Harry says, shrugging a little. “But come on, Louis. You’ve got to come to New York with me. I can’t go to New York and not bring you, can I?”

“I mean, you could…” Louis starts, but Harry cuts him off with another kiss.

“No, I couldn’t,” he says gently once they’ve pulled apart. “And yes, I agree that maybe some time apart would do us a bit of good, maybe. But I also know you pretty well and I know no matter how much you profess to being okay about me going to New York alone, you’d actually be pretty pissed at me if I did that, so.”

Louis snorts. “Alright, fair enough.” He bumps their foreheads together again. “I’m sorry I got all pissy with you in the restaurant. That’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel inferior,” Harry whispers, pressing his lips together. He looks despondent and guilty still and he really doesn’t need to because Louis’s long forgiven him. He runs a hand over the back of Harry’s neck, shakes his head against his.

“You didn’t,” he says, only lying a little. “And anyway, I love you and can’t stay mad at you for long because…” He pulls back and throws his arms in the air. “You’re taking me to New York.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, I am,” he says proudly, and he puts his hands on his hips and thrusts his chest forward. “And it’s going to be the best work-slash-holiday trip ever.”

That night they curl up together and compile the list for Harry’s managers so they have an idea of what they’ll need on the trip. They Google hotels and look at cab companies and see how many of them offer accessible cars and gradually the whole dreamy idea looks like it could become a reality.

But then it doesn’t.

The next day Harry comes home looking all mopey, hair tied up in a scraggly topknot and his tie loose around his neck. He traipses into Louis’s office and flops down on the sofa with a heavy sigh, and Louis takes one look at him before he bursts out laughing.

“Who pissed in your cereal?”

Harry glares at him. “Work did,” he grunts, then sighs again. “New York is off the cards, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh.” The smile slides off Louis’s face. “Why?”

“Apparently the hotel they wanted to put us up in can’t accommodate us until the following week and that would mean being there over Zayn and Liam’s wedding, so I had to tell them no.”

“Oh.” Louis frowns. “What, there’s only one hotel in the whole of New York that can accommodate a guest in a chair?”

“I know,” Harry says, voice soft. “I know, I said that to Ben. I said it feels like I’m being fobbed off.”

“And what did he say to that?”

“He said ultimately it’s not his call to make, even though he agrees it’s really fucking unfair. There’s a few others in the area where we’d need to stay but it’s New York, isn’t it? The hotels over there aren’t exactly cheap. But that price difference is peanuts to a company like this, which is why Ben and I spent the day trying to argue it.”

Louis sighs. “So what happens now?”

Harry laughs but it’s empty. “Either I go the week before without you, stay where they want me to stay and I’m back in the country before Zayn and Liam’s wedding. Or neither of us go at all.”

Neither of them say anything for a bit.

“You should go,” Louis says eventually, quietly. “It’s your fucking career, Harry, and it’s… I mean, at the end of the day you’ve got to view it like a work trip. It’s not like it’s a holiday, is it?” He shrugs. “I mean, how many other companies would pay for their partner to go away with them?”

This time when Harry laughs it’s laced with at least a little bit of humour. “Louis. Not many people are in our situation, are they?” He unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt. “Think about how easily they just let me return to work after the nine months I had off after your injury. That wasn’t even me in hospital. We aren’t even married yet, for fuck’s sake. My issue is they’ve always been so ready to accommodate for you before, so why stop now?”

“Haz, it’s fine,” Louis says, even though everything doesn’t feel fine. He’s a little offended, he can’t deny that, but at the end of the day he can see why Harry’s managers have made the decision they have. “I’m not… it’s okay, you should still go.”

“Nah, I already told them where to shove it,” Harry breathes, shaking his head. “How can I say yes when they’re being like this? Nope, I’m not doing it. It’s the principle of the damn thing.”

“ _Harry._ ” Louis is torn between being baffled and proud. “It’s _New York._ ”

“New York will still be there next year when we’ve got the time and money to go ourselves,” Harry says. “And also, it’s not really a massive career move. It’s just a business trip.”

“Still…” Louis rolls over to him, resting his fists on Harry’s knees. “I thought you wanted the time away?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not like this I don’t.” He covers Louis’s hands with his and squeezes. “Maybe another time? Right now I can’t imagine anything worse than not being able to curl up next to you, not after the shit day at work I’ve just had.”

Louis chuckles. “Alright, darling, alright. I still think you’re a mug, but you’re my mug and I love you for what you’re doing.”

“I love you too,” Harry grins, pecking him softly on the lips, and then, “Fuck them anyway. Let’s have a treat night instead, shall we? Curry for tea?”

Curry is one of Louis’s favourite takeaways because nothing needs cutting up and he can eat it all with his hands. Harry knows this and always offers up a curry when he thinks something he’s said or done has hurt Louis’s feelings, and Louis isn’t sure if Harry knows that he’s cottoned on to this. Nevertheless, he’s hungry and tired and wants to lighten the mood, and a lazy night in their pyjamas eating poppadoms seems a good way to do that.

“Christ, you must be in a bad place to willingly suggest feeding me junk food,” he jokes, but he nods. “I’m down for that.”

Even though Harry says it’s fine, his behaviour says otherwise. He feels… _off,_ almost, in the days following his decision and Louis has no idea what to do. He can’t shake the feeling that this is his fault still, which is kinda is, but it’s also _not_ his fault that Harry’s being such a damn martyr about it.

So they keep on keeping on, as they always do. Louis tries to keep things as cheery as possible when it’s just the two of them, which seems to be a lot this week as he has two hospital appointments and some extra time with Claire scheduled.

By the time Friday rolls around Louis is exhausted and in a pretty bad mood. He’d slept badly and woken up with cramps in both his legs, and Harry’s still acting weird so he pointedly doesn’t ask him for help in loosening his muscles even though he wants nothing more than a massage. The nurse has been and gone and he knows he’s got work to do, but he tells Harry he doesn’t want to get up yet.

“I slept shitty and I want to go back to bed,” he informs him, punctuated by a yawn. Harry nods and helps lift him enough so he can shimmy his boxers back up, but keeps quiet. “Here, will you put my phone under the pillow so I can ring you when I want to actually get up?”

“Yeah,” Harry says blandly, and he scoops Louis up without another word, sliding him back onto the bed and pulling the covers up over him. “I, um… do you want to sleep on your back?”

Louis blinks at him. “Do… do you think I could?”

Harry shrugs at him. “Well, I mean you’ve got no tubes to get in the way. Worth a shot, innit?”

Louis nods against the pillow and wriggles a little, trying to get comfy. This position feels alien now and the more he wriggles the tighter his joints start to feel and he ends up spasming, _hard._

_“Jesus Christ.”_

“You alright?” Harry asks in a low voice. He wraps a hand around Louis’s wrist. “Shit, Lou, you’re wound tight.”

“I know,” Louis says hotly, with more bite than he’d intended. He’s just _so_ uncomfortable. “I slept so bad.”

Harry sighs. “Baby, why didn’t you just say?”

Louis tries to shrug but it just ends up triggering another spasm, and he hisses. “ _Fucking hell.”_

“Roll over for me,” Harry says softly after he’s ridden it out, putting a gentle hand on Louis’s hip. “Let me work on your shoulders for a bit, come on.”

Louis does as he’s told. When his back is properly turned and he can no longer see Harry’s face he mutters, “And my legs please.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles. “Yeah, sure.”

Without another word said between them Harry uses deft, well-practiced movements to start working the horrible kinks out of Louis’s shoulders and back. He pauses each time Louis’s tired body starts to spasm, letting him ride it out as Claire told him to, but gradually they become less frequent and less intense, which is a relief.

“Thank you,” Louis all but whispers. Harry’s fingers slow but don’t stop, and Louis feels the bed dip as his boyfriend slides onto the mattress before he presses a lingering kiss into the back of Louis’s head.

“Louis.”

Louis groans softly. “Yeah, babe?”

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s tone makes it very clear that he’s not just asking about his muscles.

“No,” he answers honestly, and then, “Roll me back over?”

Harry does. When he’s back on his back and Harry’s hand still hasn’t moved from his hip he rubs a fist up and down his forearm, a silent apology.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Louis sighs. He may as well swallow his pride and say it because he hates it when Harry’s upset. “You want me to be completely honest? Okay. I feel like you’re cross with me. For… you know.” He knows he doesn’t have to say it, he knows Harry knows.

Harry’s brows furrow together, his mouth dropping open like he wants to say something, then he snaps it closed again.

“Why would you think that?”

Sighing again, Louis shoots him a look. He’s definitely not going to be able to get back to sleep now. “Well, aren’t you?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Harry says, licking his lips. When he next speaks it’s in a slow, careful tone, like he’s really thinking about his words. “I’m mad about the situation, sure. But it’s not you I’m mad at.”

“Harry,” Louis says, voice cracking. He’s too tired for this, as well as emotionally drained from feeling on edge all week. “Go to New York. Please. I’m literally begging you here.”

“ _No._ ”

“Harry…”

“I said no, Louis.” Harry already sounds annoyed. “I’m not going to New York and that’s final.”

“This is dumb…”

“No, do you know what’s dumb?” Harry cuts in. “What’s dumb is the fact that you always, always view yourself as the reason I’m not doing something when that’s almost never the case. We’re two adults in a long term relationship, Louis. We’ve talked it over. If I wanted to go, I’d fucking go.”

“But you’ve been, like, off with me all week,” Louis says weakly, not prepared for Harry’s retort to be so sharp.

“ _You’ve_ been off with _me_ all week,” Harry shoots back. He groans. “Okay, listen. I have… my reasons for not going, alright? Can we just leave it at that?”

“Of course we can’t,” Louis snaps. “You can’t dangle that string like that and expect me to just accept it.” He hugs the duvet up around his neck, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. The idea of Harry keeping a secret from him is foreign and uncomfortable. He certainly has no secrets from him. “Why, Harry? It’s not… I literally don’t understand why you can’t tell me.”

Harry groans again. “Alright, alright. Can I… can you not look at me when I tell you this?”

What.

Louis finds himself going cold even under the duvet.  “What?”

“It’s not… it’s nothing bad,” Harry rushes out, and he looks guilty and upset and torn all at once. “I know how it sounds but I swear it’s nothing bad. Listen. I need… I had this plan, okay?” Louis feels the bed dip as he perches on the end of it, resting a gentle hand on Louis’s tummy. That makes him feel a little better, he can’t deny. “Okay, so like… in New York… ” He hears him swallow thickly. “Jesus Christ, I can’t actually believe I’m telling you this.”

Louis rolls his eyes even though he’s facing the other way. “Harry, I swear to _god…”_

“Look, I had this… this plan,” he says again. “This fucking brilliant plan for a… a certain question I wanted to ask you, alright?”

Louis’s eyes fly open and he practically propels himself back over. “ _Harry.”_

“It was gonna be so perfect,” Harry carries on, still not meeting Louis’s eyes. He’s bright red and Louis can see tiny little beads of sweat gathering on his temples, even in the low light. “And you know I… you know this is something I’ve - _we’ve -_ been thinking about for a long time and it has to be perfect, it has to. And I had it all worked out but then… then it fell through and that’s…”

He cuts himself off because Louis starts grabbing at his wrists, trying with his meek upper body to pull Harry forward so he can have a fucking cuddle. His mind is racing at 1000 miles an hour and his heart is beating _Harry Harry Harry._ He needs him in his arms right fucking _now._

“Lou, what...”

“Come here,” croaks Louis, tugging again, and this time Harry goes. He moves the duvet back and slides inside it and their bodies crash together, frantic on Louis’s part and needy on Harry’s.

They lie there for a long time after that.

“I had… I had no idea,” Louis admits quietly into Harry’s chest. He tightens his grip around Harry’s middle. “No idea at all.”

“You weren’t ever meant to,” Harry says with a wet chuckle. He strokes through Louis’s hair. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It still would have been a surprise wherever you did it.”

“Maybe,” Harry concedes. “But it was one of those where I’d convinced myself it was going to happen and I’d got it all planned out in my head only for it to fall through. That’s why I’m so upset, babe. It’s nothing to do with you.”

“I’m still sorry,” Louis mumbles. He wants to be Harry’s fiancé more than anything. “Shit. I want to be your fiancé more than anything. You know that, right?”

Harry nods, kisses the top of his head again. “I do know that.” He sighs. “Like, I feel like I’ve known that for such a long time. And I feel like I should be able to just pop the question, shouldn’t I? I should just do it and then we can stop all this messing around because I want to be your fiancé more than anything too.”

Louis surges forward and kisses him properly. He’s overwhelmed and nervous and excited and _fuck -_ this is really not how he thought this conversation was going to go. He really saw a fight happening and now… now he feels like he’s flying. And Harry’s kissing back with force, with bite, and suddenly it’s messy and suddenly he’s being rolled onto his back and his hold around Harry breaks as Harry pins his wrists to the bed, eyes wild and hair all over the place.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he begins, voice quivering.

Louis’s breath hitches.

Is that happening?

When Harry starts speaking again he’s rushing, blurting his words in a way that’s so different to how calculated he was being just minutes ago. “I have been in love with you for so long and I already know I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.”

A tear slips down his face and falls into Louis’s neck. Neither of them flinch. “I love you too,” he all but whispers, and that’s all he can manage, at least for right now. He knows he shouldn’t interrupt this but he needs Harry to _know._ It’s the surest thing he knows in this world.

Because this is really happening.

“You make me so happy even though you’re so infuriating and you answer me back every single time I ask you do something and you complain about my cooking and you haven’t let me win a single argument since we got together but I don’t give a _shit_ because I want to argue with you until I’m dead, quite frankly.”

“Wow,” Louis giggles, _has to,_ because what a statement.

“Louis,” Harry says, face breaking out into the biggest, wisest grin that Louis thinks he’s ever seen on his boyfriend’s face. “Look, I probably would have gotten on one knee for this under any other circumstances and I know I just babbled on about wanting it a certain way but this… this actually feels so right, doesn’t it? Just going for it?”

He nods. “Say it,” Louis says.

“Marry me, Louis,” Harry says, then bites his lip. “Tell me you’ll be my husband.”

“Yes.” He’s crying already and Harry’s now crying and they crash together, bodies colliding heavily as Harry pulls them impossibly closer, kissing whatever part of Louis’s chest and face and neck his lips can reach. “Yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you _,_ holy _shit!_ ”

Harry’s laughing and it’s the most beautiful sound in the whole world. Louis finally finds his mouth with his own and they kiss and they kiss and it’s messy and damp and suddenly they’re both crying and shaking but they’re still laughing and it’s honestly the greatest moment of Louis’s entire fucking _life._

“I love you,” he gets out between kisses, then makes a strange squawking sound when Harry locks his legs around Louis’s and rolls them over so he’s lying on top of Harry, lying atop his chest like a cat. “God, I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” Harry says, and when Louis goes to awkwardly brush away some of the tears as best he can they laugh again. “ _God._ Fucking hell. You’re my favourite person in the whole world, _god.”_ He pulls Louis closer, closer, closer. “Who needs New York when I have everything I need right here?”

Louis groans and digs his chin into Harry’s collarbone. “What a _line_.”

“Listen,” Harry tells him, poking at his nose. Louis scrunches up his face and pretends to bite at him. “You’ve just agreed to marry me, baby. You’ve therefore agreed to laugh at my jokes and accept my cheesy one-liners for the rest of your life.”

“Oh, I take it back then,” Louis says with a sniff.

Harry flicks him on the cheek.

“Oh my god,” he says suddenly, and his eyes go wide. “Here, shall I get you the ring?”

Louis blanches. “You… you have the ring already?” He frowns. “But we weren’t even meant to go until next year?”

“Baby,” Harry says, drawing him in for another long kiss. “Baby, I’ve had the ring since I was 18.”

Louis’s mouth drops open. That feels a little…  dramatic, even on a Hopeless Romantic Harry level. “Excuse me?”

“Not… not in a creepy way,” Harry laughs, then pouts. “Please don’t think I’m a creep.”

“You knew you wanted to marry me at 18?” Louis has to ask, because yeah, they’d been together a while at that point but Louis definitely wasn’t thinking about marriage back then. “For reals?”

“No,” Harry answers, then bops Louis on the nose. “Will you let me explain?”

“Go on then.”

“You remember when my grandad died?”

Louis nods. Of course he remembers. It had been about a month before Harry’s A-Level exams and Harry had been a right mess. Louis had been traveling back and forth between uni and home to be with him and at that time he’d never seen him so upset.

“Remember how I told you he’d left me some money but not the little ornament from his house I’d really wanted?”

Louis nods again.

“Well that was… a very small lie. He left me that money but he also left me his wedding ring because… well. You’re going to scoff.”

“I am not going to scoff,” Louis scoffs.

“Well.” Harry’s face is bright red again. “It was engraved, wasn’t it?”

Louis’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “And he was obviously called Hugh and she was Lydia, so, like, the engraving… well, it works perfectly for us, doesn’t it?”

“You fucking soppy arsehole,” Louis breathes out, then surges forward for another kiss. He doesn’t ever want to stop kissing Harry and now he doesn’t have to. “You knew… even back then? You knew?”

“Well, obviously I didn’t _know_ know, but I kept it a secret just in case.” Harry’s positively _magenta_ at this point _._ “I thought it was a lovely twist of fate regardless.”

“You’re insane,” Louis tells him. “But it’s a good insane. A lovely insane, in fact.”

Harry grins. “So do you want it?”

“Obviously,” Louis says. “Where is it?”

Harry draws Louis into him again and sits up, then carefully rearranges them so Louis is sat upright using a pillow for support. He slides off the bed and waddles over to their wardrobe, where he pulls out a cardboard box from the top shelf.

“It got easier to hide, I see,” Louis chuckles. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, it did,” he says. “Although before I had it hidden in a box of batteries in the cleaning cupboard ‘cos I knew you’d never go in there either.”

“ _Oi.”_

“Oh, shut up.”

Harry trots back over, box in hand, and he sits back on the bed. He cracks it open slowly and Louis’s breath hitches a little because oh _fuck,_ he’s finally getting his ring!

“Here you are,” Harry says, sounding strangled. Louis thinks he might cry. “Can I put it on you?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, holding out his left hand. The ring is gold, fairly simple and plain all the way round with the exception of two little diamonds at the front. It looks well worn and Harry lifts it closer so Louis can make out the H+L written on the inside, and he feels tears prick the back of his eyes again. It’s beautiful in its simplicity and Louis can’t believe this is actually happening.

Harry carefully sets the box on Louis’s lap as he ever so gently uncurls Louis’s ring finger. He’s suddenly very aware of how much he’s trembling in his excitement and it takes a few attempts, but eventually they get it straight enough for Harry to slide the ring onto.

It’s big. It’s much too big for Louis’s little hands but Louis doesn’t want to ever take it off and he’s only been wearing it four seconds.

“I… I didn’t even think about the fit,” Harry says, and he sounds upset. Louis shakes his head.

“Haz, it’s fine.” He holds out his hand to admire it. “It’s beautiful, in fact. I can’t believe you saved this for me.”

“But it doesn’t fit,” Harry says miserably. “We… I can take it to get adjusted for you tomorrow, is that alright?”

Louis can’t stop staring at his hand. “I… I mean, if you want?” he says, already unimpressed at the thought he might have to take it off. “I mean, it’s not like it’s going to fall off me, is it?” He shakes his permanently curled fingers for emphasis. “See what I mean?”

“True.” But Harry’s still frowning. “Or… I mean, is it comfortable? Do you feel like it’s going to annoy you?”

“I dunno yet,” Louis says with a chuckle. He lets himself fall into Harry’s body again, cuddling up against his chest. “But I’m happy with it as is. I don’t want you to make any mega adjustments to it if you don’t have to. It’s such a… like it’s clear how important this is to you, you know?”

Harry curls an arm around him and noses at his hair. “Alright,” he mumbles into Louis’s temple. “Let me know later, yeah?”

Louis snorts. “Babe. I’m not gonna stop letting you know about it, believe me. You’ll never be able to shut me up.”

“Me neither,” Harry admits, squeezing him even tighter. “I’m… fuck, I’m so happy, Louis. Just so happy.”

“Same.” Louis shuffles up a little higher in Harry’s arms and pulls Harry’s hand into his lap. He’s wearing a ring on his index and middle finger already, always has on his left hand, but Louis can’t help feeling it looks weird him having one and Harry not.

He wants to buy him a ring.

“I want to buy you a ring,” he announces, flipping Harry’s hand over. “One that you want. Whatever one you want, literally.”

Harry’s eyes go wide. “You… what, really?”

“Really really,” Louis tells him, smiling softly at Harry’s surprise. Why he seems surprised he has no idea. They’re both hopeless romantics and possessive bastards rolled into one. It’s probably one of the reasons they work so well together. “You got the proposal and you also get the walking down the aisle bit, so the least I can do is buy you a ring.” Harry curls his fingers around Louis’s fist and squeezes. “I know it won’t have the same cool backstory that yours has but I…”

“I don’t care.” Harry uses his free hand to nudge Louis’s chin up and presses their lips together again, close mouthed but long and drawn out. They’re both smiling too hard to deepen it right now. When they pull apart Harry rubs their noses together in an Eskimo kiss and Louis winds his arms back around Harry’s neck and pulls him back down, and they don’t leave their bed for a long time after that.

It gets to around noon before they decide to emerge. After they’ve showered and dressed and gotten comfy on the sofa they order in a pizza (Louis’s choice, of course, but he doesn’t want Harry to be away from him for measly things like _cooking,_ for fuck’s sake) and settle Harry’s Macbook on a dining chair opposite so they can FaceTime their mothers.

“Whose shall we go with first?” Louis asks, tugging his sleeves down to cover his hands.

“Hmmm,” Harry mumbles. “Well, mine is definitely home so we can call her first. And we’ll have to phone Gemma separately, of course.”

“Oh, god, and we’re gonna have to phone my mum, then Mark, then Lottie and Tommy, then Fizzy at uni.” Louis gasps. “Oh, Jesus. Then Liam, then Zayn, then Niall, then Hailee, because they’ll all be fuming if they don’t hear it direct from us.” He knocks his head against Harry’s shoulder. “Why oh why do we have to be so popular?”

Harry laughs and kisses the crown of his head. “It’s a hard life, isn’t it, baby?”

“It is,” Louis says sombrely. He sighs. “Why don’t we just text them instead?”

Harry’s eyes go wide. “Louis,” he says slowly, “Do you really think for one second our families are going to let us get away with announcing our engagement to them over Whatsapp?”

“Sure, why not?” Louis shrugs. “I mean, we have a group chat with all our friends, haven’t we? And my Tomlinson family group chat has Lottie and Fizzy and my mum in it, and…”

“No.” Harry’s tone is flat. “Absolutely not.”

Louis sighs again. “Alright, well then you come up with a compromise, asshole.”

Harry flicks Louis on the nose again and licks his lips as he mulls it over. “What about…” he starts, then pauses again for a second. “What about if we text everyone that…”

“Harry, I will hit you…”

“... that we want them to come over tonight and keep it quiet, then when everyone is here we tell them. If they haven’t seen your ring and twigged it themselves, of course,” he finishes, peering over at Louis, holding back a little in case Louis does actually decide to hit him.

“That’s… not actually a bad shout,” Louis mumbles. He hates it when Harry’s right. “The only thing is it might be a little short notice but we can work with it.”

“Yeah, anyone who can’t come we can call later, can’t we?”

“You know, you’re not just a pretty face,” Louis grins, then winds his arms around Harry’s middle once more. Harry hums and returns the cuddle, which ends up being more than a cuddle, and they don’t end up texting everyone until it’s definitely too late.

Sue them. They just got engaged, they’re allowed to be handsy.

And as luck would have it, almost everyone can come, with the exception of Mark and Fizzy, the former being at work and the latter being fifty miles away at uni. In the hours before everyone turns up Harry whips together a chilli that he leaves in the slow cooker before he runs to Asda for rice, snacks and champagne. When he gets back they end up at Louis’s computer until guests arrive, searching for the perfect ring for Harry.

There’s one that really sticks out, from a jewellers in the next town over. It’s expensive, so they don’t order it straight away, but they do phone the shop and ask if they can put it on reserve for tomorrow so they can come and look at it.

Harry could have a ring on his finger by tomorrow.

Fucking hell, this really isn’t how Louis saw his Friday going, but _fuck,_ he’s not complaining.

He’ll never complain about any of this.

It’s Lottie who arrives first and she’s barely inside the house before she notices the ring on Louis’s hand.

“What the fuck is that?” she demands, pointing between him and Harry, eyes wide. “Is this… are you…?”

“Maybe,” Louis says with a Cheshire cat grin, and she shrieks so loud he has to roll backwards. “Oi, fucking hell, woman. Calm down.”

“Engaged!” she yells, then jumps forward and throws her arms around him, shaking him from side to side a little more roughly than he was ready for. She kisses all over his face and then, once Louis has successfully batted her off, she rushes over and does the same to Harry. “You guys. You _guys._ ” She claps her hands together then winds an arm around Harry’s waist. “Since when?”

“Since about ten o’clock this morning,” Harry tells her, beaming over at Louis as he says it. “We couldn’t wait any longer.”

“This is the best. This is the _best,”_ Lottie squeals. “Let’s see the ring, Lou, come here.”

“It’s a bit big but I’m working with it,” Louis says as he moves towards her, pushing his wheel with one hand and holding out his other. “It was Harry’s grandad’s wedding ring.”

Lottie squeals again as she takes Louis’s hand, then wraps him in another hug before he knows what’s happening. “This is amazing.”

“Oh my _god,_ we _get it,_ ” Louis says, rolling his eyes over-dramatically. “You’re not allowed to just announce it though. We want to make people work for it.”

Lottie pouts. “Would I do such a thing?”

Louis eyes her. “Maybe.”

‘Maybe’ turns out to be ‘absolutely’ as Gemma turns up next, still in her posh suit from work, and Lottie blurts it out before she’s even finished giving Harry a hug hello.

“Harry asked Louis to marry him!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lottie!”

“What? How am I meant to keep this quiet?”

“Because I fucking asked you to, you bitch!”

“Will you two calm down…”

“You’re engaged?”

“Surprise?”

Gemma steps back, looking between Louis and her brother, hands pressed over her mouth. “Engaged?” she repeats, her eyes twinkling with mirth and excitement. “That’s… fuck, you two, that’s amazing, oh my god.” She pushes herself back into her brother’s arms and starts squealing, just like Lottie had.

Girls are strange, Louis decides.

“But I thought you were... you know, New York?” he hears Gemma whisper. Subtlety has never been her strong point. Harry shakes his head.

“Fell through and I couldn’t wait,” he says with a shrug. “It was kinda spur of the moment anyway but, like, in a really good way.”

Gemma nods then moves over to Louis, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing tight. Louis knows her well enough to know she’s about to cry. “Lou,” she breathes out, and he squeezes her back. “Congrats, baby. This is amazing.”

“Thank you, Gems,” he mumbles, trying not to get choked up himself. Everything is just _so much_ today. “Thank you.”

And if Louis thinks he’s going to cry when Gemma gives him a hug, he’s vastly ill-prepared for Anne’s reaction.

Anne bursts into tears, loud uncontrollable sobs that Louis has never seen from her before. Harry bundles her up into a hug and looks frantically between Louis and his sister, who then look at each other with wide eyes.

“Mum?” Harry croaks gently. “Mum, are you okay?”

She tears back, a weird, manic look on her face, and she slaps him on the chest, _hard._

“Ow!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she howls, then hits him again. “Why didn’t you call me straight away? I raised you better than this!”

Louis isn’t sure whether to laugh or to try and rescue Harry. He chooses the former.

“We wanted to get everyone together…”

“But you still tell your mother first,” she shrills, then turns to Louis with that same manic expression. He promptly stops laughing. “I hope _your_ mother knows.”

“Um,” Louis says dumbly, which earns Harry another slap.

“Ow! Mum!”

“The pair of you!” Anne takes Harry’s face in her hands and drags him down to her height, then she starts kissing all over his face. “But… I… am… so… happy… for… you…” she gets out in between kisses, then draws him back in for another tight hug. “Oh, you idiot boy. You idiot, idiot boy!”

“Thanks, Mum,” Harry mumbles, looking miserably at Louis, who’s back to laughing. They look a right sight.

“And you!” Anne suddenly drops Harry and spins around to Louis, who shuts up again. “You… my darling, darling boy!”

“How is he your darling boy but I’m an idiot?” Harry asks incredulously, hands on hips. “I’m your bloody son!”

“And now Louis will be too,” Anne says brightly, crossing the room in three long strides before she takes Louis’s face in her hands and kisses all over him as well. “Oh, baby. Oh, I’m so happy. So happy!”

When she pulls back she’s got tears in her eyes again, and that’s what makes Louis well up.

“Thank you, Anne,” he says softly, squeezing her wrist between his two fists.

“No, thank _you,”_ Anne says, and then she’s crying again. “I’m so happy it’s you he’s marrying, so bloody happy. You’re the love of his life…” She cuts herself off with a sob and then Harry’s there again, winding his arms around her waist and cuddling her in. Louis really wishes he could join in.

“Mum.” Harry croaks, and like he already knows what Louis’s thinking he coaxes her to bend down and wraps Louis up in the hug with her. “God, Mummy…”

The doorbell rings again and they break apart. Lottie goes and answers the door and it’s Niall, Hailee, Zayn and Liam, with Lucy on Liam’s shoulders. There are various greetings and cries of “Hello!” as they move down into the living room, and once they’re in Louis doesn’t even bother making them sweat because he’s too riled up and too excited and quite frankly too bloody emotional.

“I’m engaged!” he yells, throwing his left hand in the air once they’re all in eyeshot. “Harry and I got bloody engaged!”

It has pretty much the reaction he’s expecting.

Everyone stops in their tracks for a few seconds, then Hailee bursts into tears and the three lads run towards Louis and Harry at a worrying speed, yelling and screaming so loud in congratulations that Lucy also starts to cry in her confusion.

“Your Uncle Louis is marrying Uncle Harry, baby,” Niall says, scooping Lucy up onto his hip. He’s still grinning from ear to ear, then he elbows Harry cheekily with his free arm. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She looks at Niall like he’s stupid. “They should already be married, Daddy,” she tells him, little face all scrunched up. Then she turns to Louis and Harry. “Why aren’t you married already? What’s the big deal?”

Louis schools his face into something more serious, and he can tell Harry’s trying really hard (and failing) not to laugh. “I’m sorry, Lucy,” he says sombrely. “Uncle Harry and I will make sure we do it soon.”

“Good,” she says, seemingly pleased they’ve gotten it sorted to her standard now, wiggling to get down out of her father’s hold. “And _I’m_ not allowed to yell in the house so why are you?”

She really is Niall’s daughter.

Louis’s mum cries the most, turning up late with all the kids in tow. By this point Louis’s migrated onto the sofa, where it’s easier for him to hug people, and she takes one look at Louis’s left hand, Harry’s right hand clasped tight in it, and her face just crumples.

“You two,” she croaks, then rushes forward and wraps them both up in her arms. She’s only small, but somehow her hugs have always felt all-encompassing and warm in a way nobody else’s, not even Harry’s, ever have. “Oh, you darling two.” She turns to Harry and squeezes his cheeks, stroking a thumb over the apples. “Harry, my darling Harry.”

“Hi, Jay,” he croaks out, curling his hands around her wrists. “I’m… sorry I didn’t, like, get to ask your permission or anything, it was kind of spur of the moment and…”

“You don’t need my permission,” Jay scoffs, then bundles him into a hug. “You’ve basically always had my permission, for fuck’s sake.”

Louis’s eyes go wide. “Mum!”

“He has, darling,” Jay tells him, then practically hauls him into her lap like he’s a kid again and cradles him close. Harry kisses his temple quickly and shuffles a little the other way, giving them some time, just mum and son. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, even though nobody else is listening. “You’re gonna make such a good forever pair, the two of you.”

Louis laughs quietly and hugs her back. “I feel like we always were a forever pair.”

“Maybe,” Jay says with a small shrug. “You put the boy through a hell of a lot and he’s still around. I’m so proud of and grateful to him for that, you have no idea. I couldn’t do what he does now.”

Louis burns hot. “Mum…”

“I have six other kids, darling,” she says gently. “Of course I couldn’t. But he just took it on without question and… and the way he looks at you and handles you shows me he still loves you and that’s so important to me, Lou. So important.”

“Well, obviously,” Louis says, cheeks still flaming.

“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel shitty, baby, that’s the last thing I ever want to do.” Jay takes her son’s face in her hands and forces him to look at her. “My point was I’m your mother and it’s my job to worry. I’ve worried about you every day for the past 25 years anyway, but the last few years I’ve just worried a little more, yeah? But I’m so glad I’ve never had to worry about Harry, or whether I was leaving you in the wrong hands, or if you were ever in a shitty relationship with someone who was only staying because they felt they had to.” She presses a kiss onto Louis’s slightly sweaty forehead. “I love Harry like he’s my own and I always will. And I’m proud you picked a partner that you’re proud of.”

“Thank you, Mum,” Louis croaks, winding an arm around her neck so he can pull her into an awkward hug. It doesn’t last long before Harry charges into the kitchen yelling, “Oh my god, I forgot we got champagne!” but it lasts long enough. His mum’s approval means everything and he’s content to just lie here and cuddle her for a bit, because he doesn’t get to do it that much anymore.

Champagne (and Ribena for the kids) is passed around and they all cheers the happy couple, which makes a fair few people (both their mothers) start crying again, especially once they’ve announced that their plan for tomorrow is to find Harry an engagement ring to match. After that there’s food in vast quantities, followed by pudding, and it’s just so nice and relaxing and wonderful to share the best news of Louis’s life with his favourite people in the whole world. He wants to do this every week, and part of him wants the celebrations to go on long into the night.

But there’s another part of him, a selfish part, that wants everyone to leave so he can fold himself back into Harry’s arms and never leave.

It’s dark when everyone eventually leaves, with kids asleep in parents’ arms and the kitchen and living room an absolute disaster. There’s half-drunk champagne glasses and bits of rice trodden into the carpet, but that’s another problem for another day, in Louis’s humble opinion.

He tidies up as best he can from his chair (which isn’t the best, he can’t lie) before he rolls into the kitchen. Harry’s stacking the dishwasher, fucking Marigold gloves on his hands, but Louis isn’t having any of it.

“Leave it,” Louis tells him, tugging at his elbow. “Leave it and take me to bed.”

“In a second, baby,” Harry says, though he already sounds torn. “Just let me…”

“Leave it and take me to bed,” Louis repeats. “I shouldn’t have to ask you again, Haz, it’s our fucking engagement night.”

“You’re such a mouthy little fuck,” Harry says with a sigh, but he pulls his Marigolds off and does just that. He scoops Louis out of his chair and carries him into the bedroom, where they kiss and touch and mumble the lamest, cheesiest shit against each other’s lips. They make love until the early hours, the sound of rain pit-pattering against the windows outside, and then again once the sun rises and they’re meant to be getting ready. But Louis can’t help the fact that he wakes up hard some mornings, and when he does they like to take advantage of it because it doesn’t always happen anymore, so they do.

Twice.

Their plan was to be up bright and early and in the car by 9 anyway so they can drive to the little jewellers to see if Harry’s potential ring is everything they hope it is. They manage to get on the road only an hour later than planned, which in Louis’s mind is a victory in itself, because as much as he wants this ring he also wants to have sex again. And again. And again.

“There’s time… _fuck,_ Lou… for this later,” Harry says, batting Louis’s hands away when they go to cup his dick through his jeans. He’s the perfect height to do it in his chair and he decides then and there he doesn’t do it nearly enough. “Louis, stop.”

“Just one more go,” Louis tries, rolling forward, but Harry dodges him neatly.

“No,” he says firmly, then gets behind Louis and grips his wrist so he can’t move at all. Asshole. “Just because you’ve already got your ring…”

“But I want to suck your dick,” Louis whines petulantly. “We’ve not done that yet.”

“We have,” Harry says. “Plenty of times.”

“Not in the last 24 hours though, which is my point.”

“You can suck my dick when we get home but fuck me, Louis, stop being a menace. _Stop.”_

Louis drops his hands and pouts all the way to the car.

Even though he didn’t get to suck Harry’s dick, Louis is in such a chipper mood the whole drive there. It takes just over an hour so their plan is to pick up the ring first then go for a slap up meal, just the two of them, to make a day of it all.

Normally on long car rides they like to put on Harry’s playlist and sing along to it in loud, out of tune voices but today the music remains low as they natter constantly about all things wedding, from possible honeymoon destinations to who’s going to be in the wedding party.

By the time they get there they’ve decided that Liam is going to be Louis’s best man (obviously) and Harry’s best childhood friend Jonny will be his so neither Niall nor Zayn feel awkward. Lucy will be the flower girl and Ernie and Doris will both be ring bearers, and Louis will meet Harry down the aisle as Harry really wants his parents to give him away.

Finding the jewellers once they’re there is a task and a half, what with Harry trying to push Louis while he navigates them on Google Maps at the same time, but they eventually find it, tucked down a bumpy side street that _really_ hurts Louis’s arse as they go over it.

“This ring better be the best ring ever to warrant that kind of torture,” he tells Harry sternly as Harry holds the door open one-handedly so Louis can wheel himself inside. “My poor bum.”

“I’ll give it a thorough check over later if you like,” Harry smirks, side stepping around Louis so he can push his chair up the little ramp into the shop for him. “Extremely thorough. Better than any medical exam you’ve ever had.”

Louis stares at him. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“Can I help you gentlemen?” a voice asks from somewhere behind them, and they both jump.

Harry recovers first. “Hiya,” he greets, offering the bloke a smile. “I rang yesterday to pop a ring on reserve. Name is Styles?”

“Ah, yes.” He smiles and disappears back through the doorway he came from, then reappears moments later with a green ring box, which he sets down on the glass display in front of Harry. “This one, correct?”

Harry nods dumbly. Louis too is rendered speechless because _shit,_ that’s one hundred million percent Harry’s engagement ring right there. It’s pretty simple and not far off the design of Louis’s, but it has a pair of stones nestled in the front, a blue sapphire and a green jade, and it’s so _Harry_ that Louis will personally knock him out if he decides he doesn’t like it.

Although the look on his face suggests he kinda does.

“Haz…”

“It’s so nice,” Harry stammers, voice catching on the last word. He turns to Louis. “What do you think?”

“I think you should try it on,” Louis says and _goddamnit,_ his voice isn’t much better. “What size is it?”

“This is the last one we have left in your specified size,” the bloke says in a knowing voice, smile big and kind. “But we can make some minor adjustments if we need to.”

Thankfully they don’t need to. It slides into Harry’s finger like it belongs there and they both gasp in sync, even though it’s just putting on a ring, for fuck’s sake. Harry looks at Louis, Louis looks at Harry, and they both know that’s the one they’re taking home.

“I, er, yeah, it fits,” Harry says, swallowing audibly. He looks down at it again and doesn’t tear his eyes away from it. “Oh, Lou. It’s perfect, babe, it’s exactly what I wanted it to be.”

“I’m so pleased, baby,” Louis says, rolling forward so he can get a closer look. “Oh, fuck, it really is a beauty, ain’t it?”

“It is,” Harry says, still in awe. “How much does it cost again?”

“£695,” the man says, folding his arms behind his back.

“That’s… Lou, I mean, can we afford this?” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Shit, I don’t know how much I thought it was but…”

Louis, who had already transferred the money out of his savings account the night before, shuts up him with a gentle nudge of his wheel. “Baby. Be quiet.”

Harry gapes at him. “But Louis…”

“It’s, like, the same price as two plane tickets to New York, yeah?” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “And I’m getting it for you, so be quiet.” He turns to the man behind the counter with a smile. “We’ll take it.”

Harry doesn’t say anything else while Louis pays for the ring, but when the bloke’s back is turned he smacks a wet kiss right onto Louis’s lips, then he keeps a hand on Louis’s shoulder as he punches in his pin and gives his details over for insurance.

They’re almost out the door when Louis remembers something. “Oh!” he says, which stops Harry in his tracks. He gestures with his head for Harry to reverse them. “I meant to ask. Can you resize rings here?”

“Of course,” the man says, furrowing his brows. “Why do you ask?”

“I have my engagement ring here… Haz, can you help me?” Louis holds out his hand and Harry gently uncurls his finger so he can slide it off. “And it’s just a touch too big, but I can’t, like, uncurl my fingers anymore so I don’t know if it’s worth keeping it big for comfort or what.”

The bloke slides out from behind the counter and holds out his hand for the ring. “Hmm,” he says, holding it up to eye height and inspecting it. “Can I see your hand, do you mind?”

Louis shakes his head and holds it up.

“It does look quite a bit larger, yeah,” the man hums. “But what I’d do is shrink it a couple of sizes so it’s still got a little bit of give but not as tight as I’d normally go, how does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Louis beams.

“It’s engraved on the inside,” Harry says, wringing his hands. “So could you not do that bit?”

He chuckles. “Of course I won’t, son.” He glances at his watch. “Have you fellas got a bit of time? Any more shopping to do?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, will it take a bit?”

“About an hour, maybe two depending on how busy I get in here,” he muses. “Are you okay to come back this afternoon?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry nods. “We’re gonna do a bit of shopping then get some lunch, can we come back after that?”

“Yeah, sure,” he nods, then claps Harry on the shoulder. “You don’t have to look so worried, lad. This isn’t my first time doing this.” He holds the ring up to the light once more. “Family heirloom on your side, I take it.”

Harry nods, biting his lip. “My grandfather’s wedding ring.”

“It’s in safe hands with me,” the man promises, then claps Louis on the shoulder before he disappears out the back.

“Alright then,” Harry says, then starts pushing Louis again. “Where shall we go first?”

“Hey, are you okay?” Louis says, turning to look at Harry carefully. Maybe he should have checked with him before he did that, but he _did_ say it was okay to do it yesterday. “Sorry, I know I should have checked but…”

“Lou, it’s fine,” Harry says. Once they get out the shop he pulls them over to one side and takes Louis’s hands in his, squeezing. “I promise you, it’s fine. I’m, like, a little nervous, not gonna lie, but it’s what you need, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “But I should have…”

“Louis, my love,” Harry cuts him off and squeezes his hands again. “The ring is yours now. Yesterday was the first and last time I’m gonna propose to anyone and the ring is yours. I want you and your baby hands to feel comfortable wearing it, yeah?”

“Dickhead,” Louis mutters, but he’s smiling. “Alright, darling. I love you, yeah?”

“Love you too,” Harry says with a grin, then after a brief kiss they start walking back towards the main shopping centre, ready to kill some time.

They buy a few bits here and there - Louis grabs a new game for his X-Box and Harry buys them both some new Calvin Klein boxers - then they find a nice, kind of posh restaurant to eat lunch in.

“I have an idea,” Louis whispers across the table once the waiter has taken their drinks order. He’s a genius, honestly. “Where’s the ring?”

Harry frowns, confusion reading clear on his face. “In your bag, why?”

“I have an idea,” Louis says again, rubbing his hands together. “I’m so good. Get it out for me, will you?”

“What are you doing?” Harry sounds less than impressed. “Louis.”

“Get me the ring,” Louis urges. If he could kick Harry he would. “Listen. Just follow my lead, yeah?”

“I don’t like this,” Harry says, eyes wide, but he gets up and pulls the ring box out of Louis’s bag anyway. He sets it on the table next to Louis’s water glass. “Tell me what you’re doing please.”

“Follow my lead,” Louis hisses, then beams as the waiter comes over with their drinks. He reels off their food order for them, then winks at Harry when he turns and disappears off. “Right, it’s time. Harry.”

“Louis?”

“Harry, my darling Harry,” Louis starts, louder than his usual voice. People are starting to look over at them now, which for once is exactly what he wants. Harry’s eyes are like saucers. “I have been in love with you for eight years now, the best eight years of my life, and I know we’ve had some horrible, _horrible_ times since my accident but you’ve stuck by me and I want to keep you forever!”

Harry looks, quite frankly, bloody terrified. Everyone in the room is looking at them now, and Louis grins wide, reaching forward to touch Harry’s pink cheek.

“Marry me, Harry,” he says, fumbling to get the ring box open. Once it’s open he nudges it across the table and Harry finally catches on, pretending to swoon before he nods frantically.

“Yes!” he croaks, then leans across the table to kiss him. The restaurant explodes into applause and they end up laughing into each other’s mouths. “Yes, Louis, I’ll marry you.”

Their waiter rushes back over, bottle of champagne in hand, as Louis’s sliding the ring as best he can down the fourth finger on Harry’s left hand with his knuckles. “Congratulations!” he yells, Italian accent thick, then uncorks the champagne to more applause from the surrounding tables. “That was so lovely to witness, oh my goodness.”

“Thank you,” Louis says somberly. “It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it, my darling?”

“Oh, yes,” Harry purrs. “But such a lovely surprise. I mean, I kinda knew it was inevitable but I was _not_ expecting this today. What a shock!”

They get their bottle of champagne and their meals on the house, which was basically the whole point of Louis’s plan to begin with. They end up being congratulated by multiple diners as they leave the restaurant, calling them everything from adorable to inspiring, and they leave the restaurant after almost two hours with full bellies, great big smiles, and untouched bank accounts.

“I can’t believe we just fucking did that,” Harry says, awe in his tone. “That was brilliant, but fuck, Louis, what a gamble.”

Louis shrugs, still grinning. “A gamble worth gambling, no?”

“I mean, maybe, but my god, if someone had clocked on…”

“Nobody was going to clock on, Haz,” Louis scoffs. “I mean, why the fuck would I have an engagement ring in my bag if I’m not here to propose, am I right?”

“Jammy bastard,” Harry sighs. “You’re right though. It’s hilarious but, like, I dunno. Is it not a little bit deceitful?”

“Deceitful, maybe, but I just spent nearly seven hundred quid on one thing today, so I’ll take the money saving where I can get it, babe,” Louis tells him. Harry sighs.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles, then pats Louis on the head. “Thank you for proposing.”

“You’re welcome for proposing,” Louis says, leaning his head back for Harry to kiss him on the lips instead. It’s a daft move to do on a relatively busy pavement, but Harry does it anyway, smiling against Louis’s lips.

They make their way back to the ring shop once they’ve nipped into a couple more shops on the way back. The resized ring feels so much more comfortable on Louis’s hand, and he’s also given it a polish so it’s much more shiny. They don’t even have to pay - “you’ve spent enough with me today, lads, so consider this a wedding present from me to you” - and once it’s safely and snuggly back on Louis’s ring finger, they thank him profusely once again they head back to the car.

And when they get home, Louis gets to suck Harry’s dick, so all’s well that ends well.

And the celebrations don’t stop there. Mark takes them out for a slap up meal on the Sunday to make up for not being able to make it on the Friday, which is lovely and decadent and special.

Then Louis officially asks Liam to be his best man the following day while they’re having another celebratory dinner at the pub, even though there was never really any question about who it was going to be, _honestly_ . But Liam cries and Louis cries and then Harry cries and Paul cracks open another bottle of champagne and demands to know where Harry and Louis’s reception is going to be held because “ _if it ain’t here you bastards are barred”_ is yelled at them in such a serious voice that it has everybody in stitches.

Louis’s on such a high that he almost forgets he actually has to do work otherwise he won’t be able to afford to pay for the wedding, and it takes a few days to slide back into reality. He’s been neglecting work so much that he has to cancel a poker night with the lads that Wednesday so he can work for nearly 12 hours straight. It’s a long old day of drawing and drafting and then redrafting, and he only stops when a haggard looking Harry comes into his study and tells him it’s almost 1am and can he _please_ let Harry go to bed.

“Sorry, darling,” Louis says with a wince, clicking save on all his files. He’s practically done anyway, he’ll just need to give them a quick once over in the morning before he sends them over to his manager for the final sign off. “I hadn’t realised what time it is.” He shuts down the computer and then holds out his arms. “You okay to do it like this?”

Despite his obvious tiredness, Harry chuckles then pretends to mull it over. “Am I too tired to accept my fiancé into my arms? Hmmm.” He shakes his head and then shrugs. “I guess I can live with it.”

Louis grins. “Come here, you.”

Harry scoops him up, then narrowly avoids yawning right in Louis’s face. “Urgh, sorry babe.”

Louis tucks his face into Harry’s neck, kissing his collarbones. “You’re alright,” he mumbles, suddenly very aware of how tired he is himself. “Are you working tomorrow?”

Harry shakes his head. “Nope. I might go over some stuff for next week but it’s nothing pressing, thankfully.” He uses his shoulder to knock open their bedroom door. “You?”

“Yeah, got a bit to do still.” Harry gently lays him on the bed and they make quick work of his t-shirt. “Nothing major but enough to keep me out of trouble.”

“So we can have a bit of a lie in then,” Harry murmurs, sliding Louis’s Toms off his feet. “Thank fuck tomorrow isn’t a nurse morning.”

“Thank fuck indeed.” Louis groans as he takes a moment to let his body stretch itself out, which results in only a small spasm, thank god. “Here, I’ll sleep in just my boxers, I think.”

“Yeah?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, it’ll be fine. Get yourself ready and I’m gonna have a bit of a stretch.”

“You aching?”

“Only a bit,” Louis answers honestly. He likes just lying on his bed sometimes and moving what bits of him will move, just to remind himself he still can. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.”

Harry snorts. “Thanks, Lou. Wildly reassuring.”

Harry strips down to nothing at all and then climbs into bed before Louis can say anything. His feet are freezing and he presses the soles of them into Louis’s ankles, which is the one part of him that still feels temperature as normal. It makes him squawk.

“Fuck _off.”_

Harry lets out a very manly giggle and then sighs, burying his face in Louis’s shoulder. “Wanna hold you for a bit, come here.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “And what makes you think I’m gonna let you after that?” But even as he says it, he lets Harry wrap him up in his arms and he presses closer. He could easily fall asleep like this, they both could, but they _can’t_ and they both know it, which sucks.

They keep themselves awake with light chatter, because Louis has been trapped in his office all day and they’ve not really caught up, and naturally, talk turns to the wedding again.

“Did you mean what you said before?” Louis asks, toying with Harry’s necklace. “About us wearing all blue and having matching ties and shit?”

“Did I say anything about matching ties?” Harry questions. “I don’t know if I care about the ties.”

“That’s a bold faced lie,” Louis tells him, poking him in the chest. “You’re fully going to be obsessed with every single tiny detail. You’ll be worse than Liam.”

Harry snorts. “Alright, yeah, probably. But you’re not allowed to complain because it’s _our_ wedding and if it’s not perfect then I’ll be very upset.”

“Um, yes, I fucking well am.” Louis bares his teeth and Harry laughs, kissing the grimace away. “If you drive me as crazy as Liam’s driving me I swear to fucking god…”

“Liam and Zayn’s wedding is a whole different kettle of fish,” Harry says, always the pragmatic one. “Liam wants a big white wedding with the proper three courses and the cake based on their history together and great big canvases blown up with pictures of them decorating the hall and all that bollocks.” He pauses. “I mean, unless you want that? Because I want a big-ish wedding, sure, but I want it to be ours. We’ve both said we want a fair amount of people there but I want it to be more, like… rustic?”

“Haz,” Louis giggles, then leans forward and pecks him on the nose, giggling again as Harry goes cross-eyed. “I want that too. But please…” Another peck. “I know what you’re like and you’ll start doodling all these specific ideas in your little book and you’ll get het up with niche little plans. And I love that, I really do, but we’ve been engaged for five days, darling.”

Harry pulls a face. “And?”

“And we have time, is my point,” Louis finishes. “We haven’t even looked at potential dates yet.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little prepared,” Harry says with a pout. “It’s like… oh, whatever. I’m just really fucking excited.”

“Me too,” Louis agrees quietly, and his big fat grin is back. “I’m so fucking excited. I can’t believe I’m going to be your goddamn husband.”

“ _Husband,_ ” Harry titters, shuffling down a little so he can kiss the word into Louis’s mouth. They lie there for a long time, kissing and smiling and kissing some more. It’s near getting outside when they finally get themselves ready to go to bed, which Louis knows he’ll regret tomorrow, and once Louis’s in the right position with the necessary tubes in place he tugs Harry’s arm over him, holding him tight.

“It’s mad, isn’t it?” he mumbles drowsily, glad to now be under the cover of darkness. He’s always found it a thousand times easier to get soppy when it’s dark outside. “It’s mad how much I can’t get enough of you now we’re engaged, you know? Like I know we’d gotten used to sleeping beside one another in this way and it not being uncomfortable when one of us rolled over, but now I just… I just want to sleep with you like this.”

He feels Harry smile into the back of his neck. “Ditto, baby.”

Louis lets out a long breath and lets his eyes drop closed, all ready for sleep. He’s just drifting off when Harry shuffles forward a little bit, closer to Louis. Normally Louis wouldn’t care that much but it feels like all of Harry’s long hair is suddenly tucked right at the base of his neck and it fucking _tickles._

He tries to squirm away but Harry’s holding him firm, and the fucker has always had the ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. But there’s no way Louis’s going to be able to sleep like this, so he begrudgingly prods him back awake.

He comes back to life with a start and an eloquent grunt of, “Huh?”

“Sorry, babe,” Louis murmurs gently. “Can you flick your hair back? It’s driving me mad.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, shaking his head so his hair is safely out the way. And then, like he knows what Louis’s going to say next, he scratches the patch of skin where the hair had been sitting. “That okay?”

“Perfect,” Louis says, and then, “I’m sorry I had to wake you but that was driving me crazy.”

“It’s alright,” Harry tells him, punctuated by a yawn. “It is like a separate entity these days.” Another yawn, and then, “Maybe I should cut it like I said I was going to.”

Louis snorts weakly, shaking his head. “Sure, babe,” he says dryly. Harry can talk about it all he wants, but they both know he won’t actually cut it. It’s his pride and joy. “Do whatever you want.”

It’s a lot easier to drift off to sleep after that, the smile still firm on his face.

*


	2. Part II

Louis isn’t prepared for Harry to come basically _bald_ the next day, but that’s what happens.

“What the fuck?”

Harry lets out a nervous laugh, running his hand up the back of his neck. “What do you think?”

“What the fuck?” Louis repeats, gaping. Harry keeps staring at him expectantly, but he’s quite literally struck dumb. “What the _fuck?”_

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you hate it,” Harry moans.“I knew you’d hate it. Why do you hate it?”

“I… I don’t hate it.” Louis rolls forward and gestures for Harry to bend a little, which he does, and he runs his fingertips through the short, _short_ hairs on the back of Harry’s head. “I don’t hate it, I promise, it’s just… I don’t… fucking hell, Harry. This isn’t what I meant when I told you your hair was pissing me off. I just wanted you to, like, flick it behind your shoulder.” He blanches. “Please tell me I didn’t make you do this?”

Harry shrugs again as he straightens up. “It wasn’t just you,” he admits, crossing and uncrossing his legs awkwardly. “You know I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks. I was walking through the town with Niall and Hailee and we saw this sign for donations to be made to a charity for kids with cancer, and we just went in.” He sighs. “Can you say something that isn’t an expletive about it please?”

“You look like you did when I first met you,” Louis says. He shakes his head, bewildered and a little shell-shocked. “And even then you used to talk about growing it. That’s why I’m shocked, babe. It’s not that it looks bad, I promise.” He mirrors Harry’s shrug. “I just… I guess I just never thought I’d see you like this again.”

Harry flushes. “I didn’t think of that.”

“You never think of me,” Louis simpers, then rolls forward, nudging Harry with the footrest of his chair until he sits down on a dining chair. They’re almost matched in height like this. “But hell, what does it matter? You’ll always be hot as hell in my eyes, and anyway, if you can get used to me without legs I think I can get used to you without hair.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“Maybe, but I’m the drama queen you’re gonna marry one day, so I’d suggest watching your tone there, Styles, or I’ll be forced to leave you for Liam.”

Harry flicks him on the nose for that, then leans in even closer for a messy, slightly possessive snog. They’re both wind up merchants at the best of times, but Louis isn’t lying - Harry _does_ look fit as fuck, like a taller, manlier version of the gangly teenager Louis fell in love with.

And hey, he loves it when Harry gets all possessive over him anyway, but now he’s twigged why the haircut affected him so much… well, if he doesn’t let Harry out of his sight for the rest of the day, it’s not his fault. He’s a romantic, so sue him.

He can’t believe Harry’s going to look like this on their _wedding day._

Predictably, Liam has a lot to say when he and Niall turn up for Lad’s Night that night.

“Fucking hell, it’s like stepping into 2010.”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Harry grumbles, but accepts a hug from him anyway. “You sound just like Louis.”

“Well, you do,” Liam says, reaching out and stroking the now-bare back of Harry’s neck. Harry had taken a quick shower to get rid of all the little baby hairs that had clung to his skin and clothes after the chop and his fringe was now softer and fluffier than Louis had seen it in years. He wishes more than anything he was able to run his fingers through it. “But you look more manly like this, don’t you think?”

“That’s the look I was going for, actually.”

“Like you’re a teenager again but also a man.”

“Fucking hell, Liam.” Louis rolls his eyes. “You have such a fucking way with words. How the fuck did you end up with an English teacher, honestly?”

“Hey!”

“I like it more like this, you know,” Niall says, ever the diplomat, helping himself to a beer from their fridge. “It looks a little less, like, harsh than when it was done in the shop. You look cute.”

“Thanks, Ni,” Harry says dryly. “Help yourself to beer, by the way.”

Niall pretends to cheers him from across the room, and after some more light bickering and bantering until Louis loudly announces he’s wasting away in his chair, they finally get Harry’s laptop and place their Domino’s order. Niall sets about setting up Netflix on the telly and Liam gathers sauces and napkins from the kitchen and Harry scoops Louis onto the sofa, moving his chair into the corner of the room and out of the way before he takes a running jump towards him.

“Incoming!” Harry yells before flopping his entire body weight into Louis’s lap. It winds Louis a little, but not enough for him not to wrap his arms around Harry’s middle and start rocking him from side to side. “Aw, he caught me. My _hero._ ”

"Don't you worry you're crushing him though?" Liam asks, tone amused, but Louis had known him well enough to know he's genuinely asking, he's genuinely worried. And Louis loves him to bits, but he's such a bloody worrier all the bloody time.

"Even if he was, I can't feel it," he says with a shrug, winding his arm around Harry's neck and nuzzling into his new hair, a move that says _don't you dare move, don't you_ _dare_. Harry hums, grinning, fingers soft over Louis’s skin. "Besides, we used to sit like this all the time even when I could feel my legs, so."

"I'm a needy boyfriend… sorry, I mean _fiancé_ ," Harry laughs, kissing Louis on the cheek, and for some reason that statement feels like it rings truer today. Harry stays in Louis's lap until the doorbell rings, signalling the arrival of the pizza, and he slides off and drops a pillow in Louis's lap for him to use as support instead.

"Want another drink, Lou?" Niall asks, scrabbling to his feet. Louis nods and tilts his elbow towards his and Harry's beer bottles on the table. "Yeah, one for him too. Liam?"

"Yeah, I'll come and grab the plates too, give you a hand." Liam follows Niall out the room, chatting away, and suddenly Louis is alone, unable to follow them even if he wanted to.

He sighs and fumbles for his phone, resting it on the pillow and unlocking it with his knuckles. There's a text from Zayn from half an hour ago saying he's stuck in traffic but he'll be there around 8ish, and another from Lottie with a picture of the twins on the swings in his mum's back garden, which makes him smile. By the time he's typed out replies to both the rabble are back, and he smiles softly when he sees that Niall has remembered to drop a straw into his beer bottle already.

Harry sits back down next to him and slides the pizzas onto the coffee table before he starts manoeuvring Louis’s body so he can eat the pizza off his lap like everyone else. “Top one’s the meat feast,” he says as he lifts Louis up a little higher by his armpits, then puts a flat pillow and a tray in his lap. “Think the middle one is mine and Lou’s half and half, so the bottom one is yours and Zayn’s, Li.”

“Sick,” Liam says, sliding his box out. Niall’s already deep into a slice of his, eating straight from the box that’s balanced on his belly, legs akimbo in the armchair. “Niall, for fuck’s sake.”

“What?” Niall asks, mouth full of masticated meat and cheese. “It’s only you lot.” He swallows. “I’ve seen you and Zayn having sex, for fuck’s sake, you can watch me eat pizza from a box.”

Liam’s cheeks colour and Louis and Harry both burst out laughing. “You told me you didn’t see anything,” he crows, head bowed as he busies himself with pulling apart his pizza slices. “We were under the covers, at least.”

“Awww,” Louis giggles, leaning back as far as he can to pinch Liam’s cheek. “Our sweet vanilla Liam and Zaynie.” He pats him with the back of his knuckles then moves himself back forward, smiling quick and private as Harry steadies him a little. “Where did you even see this little show, Ni?”

“That holiday in Center Parcs last year,” Niall hoots, cackling as Liam makes a frantic cutting head gesture his way. “What? I’m sorry Lucy left her stuffed lion in your room. How was I meant to know you’d be doing it?”

“We were _on holiday_ ,” Liam says with exasperation. “It was our goddamn anniversary!”

Niall shrugs. “I don’t know your life.” He turns to Louis and Harry, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Wanna know who topped and who bottomed?”

“Hello!” Zayn’s voice suddenly calls through from the hallway. The front door slams shut and then a few seconds later he appears, looking tired but chipper. “Hey, lads. Everyone okay?”

“Fine, just fine,” Liam squeaks. “How are you, love?”

“Good, thanks, yeah,” Zayn says, taking off his jacket. “Is there pizza for me?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just walks over and flops down onto the sofa next to Liam. He helps himself to the piece on Liam’s plate and says, “why does Liam look like he’s about to shit himself? What did you three do?” Then he does a double take. “Harry, mate. What the fuck?”

“What?” Harry says, affronted, and then remembers. “Oh, yeah. I cut my hair short.”

“I can fucking see that,” Zayn says dryly, then takes a huge bite out of the pizza slice. “I mean… fuck, you look good but man, it’s a big change.”

“A… good change?” Harry asks, suddenly sounding worried all over again. Zayn and Harry are both tied as the vainest person Louis knows, both interested in fashion and taking their appearance very seriously at all times and how the other perceives them is extremely important. And Zayn might be one of his best friends and he may be confined to a wheelchair, but Louis will still beat him up if he makes Harry doubt this decision he’s made.

Luckily he doesn’t have to.

“Yeah, course it’s a good change,” Zayn says, then rolls his eyes in Louis’s direction like he knew exactly what Louis was thinking. “It really opens up your face, makes you look really youthful and fresh.”

“Will you stop flirting with my boy?” Louis butts in, sticking his tongue out at Zayn, who mimics him. “ _Honestly._ Liam, reign in your man.”

“You lot are all so annoying,” Niall snaps from across the room, mouth still full of pizza. “Can’t we stick on a fucking film like a normal group of mates?”

“Are you saying you don’t want to engage in pleasant conversation with us, Niall?”

“That’s exactly what I’m fucking saying. You’re all disgusting.” He points his finger right at Louis. “Especially you, Tomlinson. Since you’ve gotten engaged you’ve been fucking unbearable.”

They all banter and squabble back and forth while they devour the rest of the pizza. Talk eventually turns to Zayn and Liam’s wedding and their upcoming suit fittings and where they’re going to be staying the night before and after, and the whole thing is just so exciting that Louis can barely stand it.

They all end up leaving around 11, pizza boxes and crusts still sprawled across the coffee table and empty beer bottles and Cola cans littering every surface. Louis’s more tired than he thought he was and clearly so is Harry, because instead of wheeling Louis into their bedroom like he normally does he scoops him straight off the sofa and carries him down the hall like a baby, flicking the lights off with his shoulder as he goes.

“You bloody neandertal,” Louis shrieks, beating his fist rather non-offensively into Harry’s chest. He’s not looking to get dropped here. “Bloody manhandling oaf.”

“You love it,” Harry deadpans, then does drop him unceremoniously onto the bed and then straddling him. “You love _me_ and I know you want me to manhandle you, like, all the time.”

Louis cocks a brow. “Is that your way of asking me to sleep with you.”

“As long as Lucy hasn’t left any stuffed toys in the room, then yes.”

“Under the covers then, yeah?” Louis laughs, waggling his eyebrows. He knots his hands as best he can into the now shorter bits of hair that decorate Harry’s neck, tugging lightly. “Vanilla, under the covers, pure missionary sex?”

Harry snorts and slides his hands down Louis’s back so they rest under his hips. His legs give a pathetic kick but Harry settles in between them comfortably, dropping his mouth to Louis’s collarbones and sucking on them lightly. “We can have whatever kind of sex you would like, baby.”

Louis gasps at the feeling, tangling his fingers awkwardly in Harry’s hair. “Yes, please,” he moans, then gasps again when he feels Harry squeeze his dick through his boxers. “Can we do it you on top?”

Harry nods into his neck, then starts kissing down his body slowly, groaning as Louis’s hands stay tangled in his hair. “Feels weird,” he mumbles, lips to Louis’s throat. “Dunno if I’ll like it as much, you pulling my hair when it’s this short.”

Louis snorts. “You used to have hair this short, remember? Back when we first got together.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know how much I liked having my hair pulled until we fucked in that hostel room in Budapest,” Harry mutters, then takes Louis’s nipple in his mouth, sucking on it firm and harsh. “When that weird German couple were having sex in the bed along and I couldn’t keep quiet.”

“You were such a fucking mess that night,” Louis whispers, body twitching against Harry’s touch. “I’ve never seen you like that before, baby. You were so beautiful.”

Harry pulls off smugly, a trail of spit down his chin. “Some of our best ever sex, don’t you think?”

“Oh yeah…. _Ahhh,_ ” Louis moans as Harry slides him down the best a little so their crotches are aligned. “Such good sex.”

“The best sex,” Harry mumbles, bending down to kiss him. Louis’s cock starts to stir as Harry’s hips fuck against his and he grins, licking his lips, excited for what’s to come. “But any sex with you is the best sex.”

“Well, considering we’ve only ever had sex with each other, I’m glad you think that,” Louis teases, giggling as Harry pouts a little. It would hold more indignance if he didn’t have a raging boner pressed against Louis’s arse, he thinks, and that makes him laugh more. “Come here, baby, let me kiss you.”

“Now who wants missionary,” Harry pretends to grumble, but ducks down to kiss him all the same. They kiss languidly, Harry’s hips working in little circles against Louis’s crotch, and when the kiss breaks they’re both panting a bit, eager and ready.

“Want you,” Louis all but whispers, nudging his nose against Harry’s, kissing his chin because he can’t quite reach his lips. “Love you.”

“Love you more than anything,” Harry hums back in a voice that makes Louis feel warm all over. They share one final quick kiss before Harry reluctantly pulls back and bends Louis’s legs back so he can slide forward on the mattress, reaching forward to the bedside table on his side of the bed for their bottle of lube and a condom.

Relearning how to have sex with one another was one of the hardest and most embarrassing bits of Louis’s injury for him, full stop. He’d gone from having regular, passionate, and sometimes even rather rough sex with the man who he knew inside out and who knew _him_ inside out to having no sex for over a year because Harry was scared it would be too much for him.

Both very sexual people, they’d been having sex pretty much since they got together. Harry was 15 and they’d fooled around a bit back then, but they’d lost their virginity to one another when Harry was two weeks into being 16 and Louis was comfortably 18, and it was probably one of the easiest experiences of his life. No worrying, no awkward conversations or panicing or anything of the sort. It was two young boys in a hotel room behind the cinema where they’d gone on their first date, and Harry had slowly opened Louis up like he’d done a good few times before and they’d made love for the first time while a football match played on in the background.

Then Louis went on to uni, living in halls and then a shared flat with a couple of mates even though he was only a 45 minute train ride from home, and Harry had been over at least once a week, sometimes more. So they’d fucked a lot back then, then they fucked a lot when Harry eventually joined him, and they’d fucked a lot when they got their own place (boy, was _that_ a good week in Louis’s life). They were both quite similar - both very tactile people, both with a high sex drive, and both very much infatuated with the other.

It was like they were made for each other or something.

But then Louis had broken his neck, and sex was suddenly off the table for a good long while. Nothing makes you feel less sexy than lying in a hospital bed for months on end, limited in how many showers you were taking, how often you were able to see your partner, how often they would do coupley things. They barely kissed for the first few months because it didn’t feel _right,_ which in itself seems absolutely crazy to Louis now because they can barely stop kissing these days, just like they could barely stop kissing before. It was such a time of uncertainty though, and to be quite honest, sex hadn’t really crossed his mind for a good while.

They’d even had a painfully awkward conversation with an older male doctor who had explained they may be quite limited in their sexual activities from now on because paralysis can sometimes affect the male’s ability to get it up. They would have to play around with it a bit and see what worked for them, and that was terrifying and humiliating in itself. Louis went to sleep that night with horrendous images in his mind of Harry tugging on his dick and nothing happening, and then even worse images of Harry tugging someone _else’s_ dick who _could_ get it up started appearing in his dreams.

He’d cried and Harry had cried, and even after Louis came home they didn’t try having sex until he’d been home a few months. And it had been rough and embarrassing and not at all easy for either of them, but they both knew that this was something they wanted and needed to get over for the sake of their relationship. And they did.

It’s not the same, of course. Gone are the days when they could shag in the shower or on the floor or anywhere other than a bed, really. Gone are the times where Louis would sink to his knees on a whim, sucking Harry off at parties or in bars or up against the fridge as he cooked their dinner. Gone are the drunken nights when they could fuck doggy-style, one of them pressed into the mattress while the other rammed into the other without finesse or grace, just pure unadulterated lust. Which sucks, yes, but they make it work.

They can 69, which has quickly become one of their favourites. Louis can still take Harry in his mouth right down to the hilt, his gag reflex still long gone, or he can bury his face deep in Harry’s arse, licking and sucking and probing his boy all the way to a messy climax. They can still fuck missionary, of course, and it doesn’t ache like it used to when Harry bends him practically in half, fucking into him hard, fucking into him soft, fucking into him however they both need it that day. And sometimes Harry rides him too, though they don’t do that as often because Louis can’t always get hard or stay hard for long enough.

But when he can… _fucking hell._ Harry is just a vision on his dick, always has been, and they both relish those days when they can play around a bit.

But this works too. Harry makes quick work of the rest of their clothes before he starts prepping Louis with his fingers, coating them generously with lube and working them in and out and working up to one, two, three. It feels different to how it used to - Louis can’t buck his hips up or shuffle himself further down the bed like he once could, but Harry is careful and listens to every word, and also he’s fingered Louis enough times, both pre and post accident, to know when he is or isn’t enjoying something.

“Shit,” Louis hears himself hiccup, one arm thrown over his eyes as Harry croaks his three fingers and that familiar warmth starts to flood his body. He feels his body move and contort with pleasure, but he himself can’t do much more than lie there and take it. “Again.”

Harry obliges, of course, leaning down as he does so he can press kisses along Louis’s tummy and thighs. Louis whines and writhes and lets Harry play his body like a violin, until it’s clear he’s becoming just as impatient for the fuck itself as Louis is and pulls his fingers out. He fumbles with the condom packet, his fingers still sticky and damp, but when he eventually tears it open and pushes it down onto his cock, he grins at Louis like he’s just won the lottery.

“Ready, baby?” he asks, voice about four octaves lower than usual.

“Fucking _hell, Harry,”_ Louis hisses, frantically grabbing his boyfriend’s neck for leverage as Harry breaches him. The stretch isn’t pleasant, never is and probably never will be, but they come together like they’ve practiced a thousand times before, kissing through the pain and taking it as slowly as Louis needs.

It’s still a little raw as Harry breaks the kiss, but Louis can tell from the way his hips are making these aborted little swivelling motions that he’s really struggling to keep from just fucking into Louis without mercy. He’s horny as fuck himself, and he tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair once more before he grits out a, “Fuck me Harry, come _on.”_

And _boy,_ does Harry fuck him good.

It feels like it goes on forever and lasts no time at all. It’s all biting kisses and sharp jerks and soft words murmured into sweaty skin, and Louis loves it so much, loves feeling this close to and getting to watch the person he loves the most falling apart in his arms. He climaxes first but Harry isn’t far behind him, grunting and groaning before he buries his face into Louis’s neck, panting, twitching, groaning.  

Louis brings his shaky arm up and wraps it even tighter around Harry’s head, anchoring him in, and the pair lie there in a comfortable, drowsy silence for a bit. Louis almost finds himself dozing off, so comfortable and content, but then Harry lifts his head up a little and kisses his chin, smiling almost sympathetically.

“You okay?”

“No, that was awful,” Louis says dryly, rolling his eyes. “It was alright. I’m alright. You?”

Harry chuckles softly. “Pretty good,” he tells him, then rests his head back down on Louis’s chest, resting his cheek just above Louis’s nipple. He’s still inside Louis, which Louis used to hate, but now they have sex with condoms it feels less disgusting, for him at least. “Are you comfy like this?”

“I’m alright,” Louis repeats, wrapping his tired arms tighter around Harry. He peppers a few kisses into his hair and sighs, happy and warm.

And then Harry has to ruin it, like he has to every single time.

He raises his head again and winces as Louis’s forced to drop the arms from around his neck, then carefully leans back on his knees as he pulls out of Louis, stripping off the condom and tying a knot in the top. He strokes a soft hand over Louis’s sticky tummy as he gets off the bed, mumbling the same apology that he always mumbles when he does this.

Louis sighs. “Oh. Bye then.”

“Sorry,” Harry groans, and he always sounds like he really, genuinely means it, which is something. “I was falling asleep there and, you know. I can’t do that cos I’ve gotta do… you know.” He tosses the condom into the bin by their desk and walks over to the bathroom door, opening it. “Do you need anything from here?”

Louis shakes his head, knowing deep down Harry’s only doing what he has to do, but he still hates the fact that they can’t just cuddle after sex until they both fall asleep like they used to. He’s almost more bitter about that than not being able to have actual sex at times.

Nevertheless, he shrugs against the pillows and when Harry comes back over with a damp flannel to clean off his tummy, he shrugs again, forcing a smile. “It’s okay, Harry. Really.”

Harry coaxes a smile of his own, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You still look sexy as fuck with your cum all over your tummy like that, you know?”

"Yeah, and really nothing says sexy _quite_ like pulling away from a post coital cuddle to sort out your boyfriend's piss bag," Louis says dryly, rolling onto his back and letting his eyes drop closed. He wrinkles his nose when he feels Harry drop a kiss onto his forehead. "Stop it."

"You stop it," Harry says, grabbing the bed remote and raising the bed to its full height. "You know I think you're sexy no matter what you do."

Louis cracks open one eye. "Nothing about this scenario is remotely sexy, Haz. Don’t try and mug me off here.”

"Louis.”

Louis sighs again and reaches for the tube in Harry's outstretched hand. He slides it out its wrapping and waits for Harry to grab the tube of lube - a different lube than the one they were using earlier - so he can coat it in jelly and slide it into his stomach. It still feels weird as hell, shoving a tube into a hole in his tummy which connects to a bag that collects a night's worth of urine, but hey, at least he's no longer self conscious about having Harry hook him up before bed and dispose of it in the mornings.

The decision to have the [ Mitrofanoff procedure ](https://www.gosh.nhs.uk/medical-information/procedures-and-treatments/catheterisation-using-mitrofanoff)done had come fairly easily to Louis given the circumstances. He was never going to be able to stand up to piss again, so why bother making it harder for himself when one relatively simple procedure could help?

So now Louis pees through a tube in his stomach, into a bottle during the day that Harry or whoever he’s with simply pours down the loo, or a bag that attaches to his bed at night, so he doesn’t need to wake Harry up to help him. Yes, it still requires the help of someone else, but his mum, Harry’s mum, Lottie, Zayn, Liam, Niall and Stan all know how to go through the motions of it now, and they’re all pretty quick and efficient with it. It’s relatively painless and easy to clean up and dispose of the rubbish, and Louis certainly feels that it’s made a difference in making things easier for himself.

“When you’ve done that, do you mind working on that knot on the back of my leg again?” he asks Harry, instead of fighting the same fight he’s pretty much over fighting by now. “It’s giving me grief again.”

“Sure,” Harry nods, gathering up all the rubbish and disappearing into the bathroom for a second. Louis hears the bin open and close, the tap run, then Harry starts cleaning his teeth and weeing at the same time, which is _delightful._

“I won’t waste away if you want to do those things one at a time,” Louis calls out playfully, laughing when he hears the loo flush and then Harry’s middle finger appears out the doorway. “You know, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

The tap runs again, then Harry reemerges, flicking the bathroom light off before wandering back over to the bed. He’s still stark naked, and he never sleeps with clothes on anyway, so Louis doesn’t bat an eyelid anymore. “I am cute,” he says, raising himself onto the bed so he can give Louis a kiss. “And you’ll do well to remember that, Tomlinson.”

“You never let me forget it.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Anyway, can we do this now? You’ve knackered me out with your sex demands and I want to get some sleep.”

Harry tuts but he obliges, pulling Louis’s legs into his lap and giving each a gentle but firm massage. His technique has come a long way - back when they first started this and Claire had been teaching Harry bits and pieces he could do at home, he used to dig into Louis’s muscles with such force that it would trigger a spasm. It didn’t hurt, per se, but it wasn’t particularly enjoyable either, but he’s been a good student and has picked up a lot of pointers that have been supremely helpful.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Louis moans, his calf muscle twitching hard as Harry deftly works on a knot that’s been giving him grief for a good couple of days. “That feels fucking incredible, _yeah,_ rub there again, _again,_ Jesus…”

“Do you make these kinds of sounds when it’s Claire doing this?” Harry questions, sounding mighty amused.

Louis smirks back at him over his shoulder. “Oh, nobody can make me feel as good as you do, baby… _Christ,_ do that again.”

“Are you enjoying this more than the hot lovin’ I gave you back there?” Harry pouts, and Louis buries his head in the pillow when he barks a laugh so loud, he makes both Harry and himself jump. “ _Hey._ What?”

“Hot lovin’,” Louis cackles, giving Harry a weak nudge in the belly with his leg. “You’re the worst person I’ve ever known. Seriously? Hot lovin’?”

Harry lets go on his legs and hops off the bed, face pulled tight in a scowl. “Everyone else thinks I’m funny.”

“Oh, honey, come here, you big ol’ baby.” Louis uses the arm of the bed to roll back over onto his back, then makes grabby hands at his boyfriend. “Pleaseee? Oh, come on. Nobody else could give me the hot lovin’ like you do.”

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” Harry grumbles as he flicks the main light and trudges back to the bed, tucking Louis’s chair under the desk as he goes. He clambers into bed behind Louis and tugs the covers over them both, then helps Louis roll comfortably onto his side so the tubes aren’t tangled between them.

“Nope,” Louis says, still giggling, but it might still be so funny because he’s that tired. He coaxes Harry a little closer and kisses the underside of his jaw before settling as comfortably as he can against the pillows. “Night, my love.”

"Goodnight,” Harry mumbles, and then after a few moments of peaceful silence he whispers, “I love you to the moon and back," into the back of Louis's neck, and Louis smiles and strokes his nails over Harry's wrist, feeling warm and loved and so, so grateful that he’d asked the best boy in the world out when he was 17.

“I love you more,” he whispers back, sliding down a little so he’s pressed deeper into Harry’s hold. Before the accident, he was almost always the big spoon, but he can’t be that anymore. Sometimes it sucks, but on days like today he finds himself not minding as much. “Thank you for being you.” He pauses. “And for giving me that hot lovin’ too.”

Harry simply kisses his hair, pressing his smile into the back of Louis’s neck and Louis rests easy after that. It’s always easy to rest easy with Harry.

*

When it comes to the planning of Liam and Zayn’s wedding, Louis had thought (secretly, of course) that Zayn would be the bridezilla of the two.

He could not have been more wrong.

He first realises Liam’s turned into a crazy person when he gets a phone call at 11pm on a Sunday night asking if he thinks lilies are a better choice than hydrangeas for the flowers at the ceremony. Louis had hung up and tried to back to watching his film but Liam had called back immediately and snapped that he’ll strip him of his best man title if he ever pulls that shit again, and _for fuck’s sake_ just google the flowers and tell me what you think, asshole.

Louis had mostly thought he was joking but now he’s starting to think he’s really, really not.

After that phone call came emails with ten different attachments showing different menu ideas, photographer portfolios, cocktail ideas, colour palettes - basically a bunch of shit that Louis’s never considered in his whole life. His replies start out sarcastic and are almost always shot down with angry replies that don’t make a lot of grammatical sense, and when he realises that Liam is actually getting pretty pissed off with him he actually does try and help, but then his ideas _still_ get shot down so he stops replying altogether.

And then Harry goes down to Birmingham for the day with work so he invites Liam and Zayn over for dinner, and before the curries have even been delivered it all kicks off.

“Does _anyone_ even _want_ to eat salmon fillet at a wedding reception?” Liam shrieks down the phone to their wedding planner, so loud that Louis and Zayn both wince. “Yeah, well, maybe you should have a word with your caterers if the only other option is pork medallions.” There’s a pause. “My husband-to-be is _Muslim_ , Laura.”

“ _Oi._ ”

“I don’t mean it like that’s a bad thing, baby,” Liam says with exasperation. His eyes are wide and dangerous and Louis wants to roll himself back from the table. “I mean they should have more of a choice in this day and age.”

Laura, their poor wedding planner, says something back to Liam that they can’t hear, but it can’t have been what he wanted to hear because the lad starts flapping again.

“We’ll have to find another venue then. It’s the only solution, I just can’t _believe…_ ”

“He just can’t believe?” Zayn mutters incredulously under his breath, standing up from the table and scrubbing a hand across his face. “I can’t believe I’m marrying a fucking maniac.”

“I can’t believe he’s turned into such a prat,” Louis agrees. “No offence but I thought that would be you.”

Zayn glares at him. “I hate this,” he snaps, then turns on his heel to leave the room, but Louis punches him in the thigh before he can get very far.

“Don’t you dare leave me in here with him.”

Zayn sighs but obediently manoeuvres Louis backwards and towards the doorway, and they almost make it the whole way down the hall before Liam notices.

“Where are you going?” Liam snaps, sticking his head through the door and matching Zayn’s glare. “Get your laptop and come back here please. We have to find another venue now, for crying out loud.”

“Do we?” Zayn asks, sounding both incredulous and higher-pitched than Louis has ever heard him. Clearly this is taking more of a toll on the pair than he’d realised and he has a sneaky feeling this isn’t the first time they’ve had this argument. “Do we really, Liam?”

“Well, unless you want to be eating pork at our wedding…”

“I don’t give a single fuck what we eat anymore,” Zayn cuts in, eyes thunderous. “I don’t give a single fuck where we get married or when we get married or if the flowers match the fucking stupid colour theme. I just wanted to get married.” His eyes go wider and even more manic, if that’s possible. “But whatever. Clearly that shit matters more to you.”

“It matters because I want it to be perfect,” Liam hisses, eyebrows to his hairline. “So what? You’re telling me you don’t want the perfect wedding?”

Louis has never wished to regain ability in his legs more than he does at that moment.

“Are you… are you serious, Liam?” Zayn shrills. “This wedding isn’t going to be perfect because nobody has a perfect wedding. It’s not a _thing._ Shit happens and you can’t have everything you want. _”_

 _“_ Why are you being like this?” Liam says, low, dangerous. In all the years as their friend Louis has never seen them row like this, has barely even seen them row. “What’s the matter with you? Why are you acting like you don’t care?”

“Because, quite frankly, I don’t anymore,” Zayn spits. “Salmon is fine. The venue is fine. Lilies over white roses is fine.” He shrugs. “I just wanted to marry the person I love.” Another shrug. “Is that alright with you?”

“Well, fuck,” Liam says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I do too, you moron. But I don’t… I want it to be the best day of our lives, you know? You only get one goddamn wedding.”

“Which I understand but Liam…” Zayn crosses the hall in three long strides, takes Liam’s face in his hands and shakes him gently. “You’ve become quite unbearable, sweetheart.”

Liam’s face falls. “I have?”

“Fucking Nora, Liam,” Louis says from across the room, “Even I can tell you’ve been a right knob.”

“What do you mean, even you can tell?” Zayn snorts, moving his arms down and wrapping them around Liam’s middle. “He was calling you at midnight about fucking hor d’oeuvres.”

“Okay, true.” Louis rolls forward, shaking his head. “That was unnecessary. You’re right, he has been a right knob.”

Liam sags against Zayn, looking rather deflated. “Oh fucking hell. So like, what? Where can we go from here? I mean...” His eyes go wide and he glances from Zayn to Louis to Zayn again with a manic look on his face. “I mean we still don’t have a set venue.”

“Babe.” Zayn frogmarches him over to the sofa, gently pushing him down onto it while he stays standing up, looming over him with his arms crossed. “This is an intervention. It’s for your own good, I promise you.”

“Christ,” Louis mutters.

“No more ringing our mates in the middle of the night.” Zayn begins to tick things off his fingers. “No more ringing Laura at arse o’clock either. That’s not fair. We don’t pay her enough for that shit.”

“Noted,” Liam croaks.

“No more worrying about the food,” Zayn continues. “Your mum and dad are paying for an open bar, darling. I promise you nobody will give a shit about the food.”

Liam just sighs.

“No more staying up late drawing up floral arrangements, no more worrying about seating plans, no more stressing about whether you’ll fit in your suit if you have a kebab after a night out, for fuck’s sake.” Zayn turns to Louis, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. “Anything to add, Best Man?”

“Yeah, actually,” Louis says, then clears his throat dramatically. “Will you stop picking wedding venues where the high table is up some steps? The last three you sent me were like that and that’s just rude.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Liam groans, then buries his face in his hands. “We really can’t get married there then. I didn’t even think of that.”

“You see, babe?” Zayn flops down on the sofa next to him and hooks his chin over his shoulder, arms around his middle once more. “You keep insisting the devil’s in the detail but you’re missing important shit like this. That’s not like you, Li.”

“I know,” Liam says forlornly. “I’m so sorry, Lou.”

“I’ll forgive you this time,” Louis says scathingly. “But if you do it at your next wedding I’ll take it as a personal attack.”

Zayn flips him off. “Babe,” he says again. “Look at me.” Liam does, pouting, and Zayn smacks a kiss onto his lips. “Pack it in, yeah?”

“But we haven’t got a venue…”

“And we haven’t sent out invitations yet,” Zayn cuts in. “And if push comes to shove we can change the date, can’t we?”

“But…”

“Louis, what film shall we watch?” Zayn says loudly, using the hand he’s not just shoved over Liam’s mouth to point at the telly. “You’ve got time to watch a film with us, haven’t you? And to not talk about the wedding anymore tonight?”

“Ooh, nothing would thrill me more,” Louis says dryly. “Something that Liam hates, maybe?”

“I hate you both,” Liam says, muffled by Zayn’s hand still, but he finally sags against Zayn and sighs. “Alright, fine. I’ll shut up.”

“Good boy,” says Zayn, patting him on the head. “Shall we finally get this fucking takeaway ordered then?”

“Thank _fuck.”_ Louis rolls forward and bangs both his fists against Liam’s knees. “I’m wasting away here, Leemo. Have you no regard for my feelings?”

“I really hate you,” Liam says mournfully, but he stands up and goes and locates his laptop anyway. Zayn fistbumps Louis as he walks through the door and down the hall. “I heard that!”

“Asshole,” Louis yells after him. He turns to Zayn. “Hey, remind me why you’re not going with the first venue again? The lovely little chapel not far from your mum and dad’s?”

Zayn levels him with a look. “Because Liam said so, that’s why.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Louis snaps. “That one was perfect. He’s a tit.”

“Who’s a tit?” Liam asks as he comes back into the room, laptop in hand.

“You’re a tit,” Louis tells him, hands on hips (as best he can). “You turned down that perfectly good venue near Zayn’s mum and dad’s. And I’m pretty sure that one was almost totally accessible.”

“It wasn’t,” Liam says, plonking himself back on the sofa. “You see? I do care about your needs.” He sighs. “What about that big house one near your uncle?”

“Big house one.” Zayn snorts an ugly laugh. “Oh, Liam, I fucking love you.”

“ _What?”_

“Big house one,” he repeats, stroking Liam’s chin fondly. “It’s called a stately home, dear.”

“Oh, whatever,” Liam grumbles. “Did you like it as a venue or not?”

“I did,” Zayn nods, then shrugs. “I liked everywhere enough as a venue, babe. It’s no skin off my nose where we get married, I promise.”

Liam groans. “Urgh, let’s sort it tomorrow. My head hurts.”

“Mine too,” Louis says with a drawn out sigh. “Listen, I’m starving here. Stop thinking about your bloody wedding and start thinking about what’s really important, which is me.”

Pizzas are ordered and talk of the wedding is put on hold while they eat. They whack a film on and by the time they’ve finished their food and moved onto the cookies, Harry shows up to take Louis home.

“If you ever call me in the middle of the night again you can find yourself a new best man,” Louis tells Liam as his parting words, but gives him a long, fierce hug anyway. “Chill your beans, Payno, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” Liam mutters. He sags against Zayn again. “You will still help me during the day though, right?”

“Bye, guys, see you on Friday!” Zayn yells, then slams the door closed. Louis bursts out laughing.

“I don’t even want to know,” Harry says as he scoops Louis into the car.

Once the pair get home they settle on the sofa for a bit, telly playing on low in the background and cups of tea cooling on the coffee table.

 _“_ Hey, which of us is gonna turn into the massive wedding diva?” Harry asks. Louis just looks at him.

“Seriously?”

Harry scrunches up his face adorably. “I’m not a diva.”

“You’re more of a diva than I am,” Louis tells him, patting his leg. “But that’s okay, baby. As long as you don’t turn into Liam I think we’ll be sound.”

“Sure,” Harry says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I’ll try really hard not to send you 16 emails in the middle of the night.”

“Thank you, my darling,” Louis says, drawing him in for a quick kiss. “What do you wanna do now? Shall we find a venue or shall we have a bath?”

Harry snorts. “What do you think the answer to that question is gonna be now at…” He glances at his watch. “Half 11 on a Monday night?”

“Well, I was hoping,” Louis says, then grins the whole way to the bathroom.

They stay up late again talking and Louis accidentally sleeps in the following day, which means he has to work later than he likes to to make up for it. He barely sees Harry all day, only grabbing him if he needs a wee or another coffee, and buries himself in emails and designs. He has no idea what time it is when Harry comes in to try and coax him out of there, but he knows it’s late and he winces internally.

“I’ve missed you today,” Harry says, pressing a kiss into the top of his head. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Louis replies blandly. “Could eat.”

“Are you nearly done?”

“Yeah,” Louis says again. And he’s not saying it just to placate him - he really is. But Harry has a history of being very distracting and he just wants to get this sent off and forgotten about. “Won’t be long.”

“Hey, shall I book us a table for Henry’s next week? That new steak place on the corner?”

Louis shrugs and doesn’t look up from his computer. “If you want, babe.”

A few moments later, he feels Harry slide a hand up his back and onto his shoulder.

“I mean for Tuesday,” Harry says gently. Louis drops his hands from the keyboard and looks up. “It’s date night, innit?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Louis nudges his glasses back up his nose and starts typing again. “Sorry, love, I promise I’ll be all yours in about twenty minutes, alright? I really need to get this proposal done.”

“Alright.” Harry kisses the top of his head and disappears out the room.

Twenty-two minutes later, Louis rolls out of his study and towards the kitchen. He can hear the radio playing and he can smell something cooking, so it’s a safe bet that that’s where he’ll find Harry.

Sure enough, once the door has opened for him and he’s moved through he finds Harry poking something in the oven, a tea towel slung over his bare shoulder. He’s changed into his comfies since Louis last saw him, which means he’s no longer wearing a shirt and he’s got his slouchy basketball shorts on his legs, slung low enough for Louis to see his pubes.

“Hey, love,” he greets. Harry turns to shoot him a grin before he closes the oven door and then moves over to the hob to stir something in one of the pots.

“Hi.”

“Sorry to cut you off back there,” Louis says with an awkward smile. “I was just in my zone.”

Harry chuckles. “I know, babe. That’s why I left you to it.”

“Let’s book the table then, yeah?” Louis rolls forward and gently runs a hand up and down the back of Harry’s leg. Now he comes to think of it, they haven’t actually gone out to eat in a while and it’ll be nice to get back into the swing of things. “What did you say the restaurant was called?”

“Henry’s,” Harry says, dropping the wooden spoon on the counter before he turns and takes Louis’s face in his hands. If Louis goes cross-eyed he can make out Harry’s engagement ring where it’s resting next to his nose, and that makes him smile more. “And I’ve already booked it, darling.”

Louis waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? Does that mean you’re paying?”

“If you want me to pay I’ll pay,” Harry shrugs, then leans down for a kiss.

And Louis honestly wonders sometimes why he doubts Harry sometimes. He’s well aware they didn’t even fight, for fuck’s sake, so why he thinks the things he does is honestly a mystery even to him.

They don’t actually make it to Henry’s that Tuesday, because at physio that day Louis pulls a muscle in his leg and it won’t stop spasming, much to his chagrin. Instead they chill at home and Harry cooks them steak his way, which is just as nice. He wishes he was in less pain because now would be the perfect night for sex, but he honestly can’t hack it. With every twitch his leg hurts more and the more his leg hurts the more frustrated he gets, which is not a good combination.

He hates taking the extra strong painkillers because all they do is send him to sleep but tonight it seems like a necessity. He knocks back two with some orange juice and the last thing he knows is Harry scooping him into his arms before he conks out, then before he knows it it’s the next morning and Harry’s awake beside him, fingers slowly running through his chest hair.

“Hi,” he says, croaky.

“Hi,” Harry parrots, then kisses him on the temple. “Did I wake you?”

Louis shakes his head. “Those fucking pills are gonna knock me dead one day, I swear.”

“Don’t fucking say that, Louis,” Harry says sharply, his expression tightening, sucking in a breath. “If you feel that way you shouldn’t fucking take them.”

Louis snorts. “I’m being dramatic, darling.”

“Well, don’t,” Harry snaps, then pushes himself out of bed, waddling across the room to the en-suite where he slams the door.

Harry never shuts the bathroom door unless there’s a guest in the house.

“Harry,” Louis yells, because who the _fuck_ is being dramatic now. “Harry, _Jesus.”_

They both know that he can’t fucking move even if he wants to and that feels humiliating in itself. He doesn’t even know what he’s _done._

“Harry, this isn’t fair,” he tries, his voice just short of cracking. A pause. “Harry.”

The door flies back open and Harry storms back across the room. His hair is all over the place and his eyes are wild. “Don’t fucking say shit like that, Louis. Don’t _ever_ say shit like that to me.”

Louis stares up at him. “It was a joke…”

“It’s not fucking funny,” Harry spits. “I hate it when you take those tablets, I fucking hate it. When I scooped you out of your chair last night…” He shakes his head. “It feels wrong, like, taking your clothes off and putting your tubes in and stuff when you’re that knocked out. Like you literally don’t move at all.”

“Harry,” Louis scrunches up his face. “I trust you implicitly.”

“I know but that’s not the point,” Harry says, then crawls back into their bed and rolls Louis over and into him. “I just hate hearing you say shit like that and this morning… I dunno, it caught me off guard, I suppose. And I really hate it.”

“Okay,” Louis says in a small voice, unsure of whether he wants to burrow deeper into Harry’s arms or shove him away for being an oversensitive dickhead. “But I swear to god, Harry, when you storm off like that and leave me in here… I hate that so much. That hurts.”

“I only needed five seconds,” Harry says, but the guilt reads clear on his face. “Fuck, we both fucked up, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. He sighs. “Look, I’m sorry I said it. And I’m sorry if it upsets you but _fuck…”_ He tenses as his leg starts to spasm, hard enough that he knocks the duvet away from both of them. “Ow, Jesus.”

“You alright?” Harry asks, holding him through it. “Is that your dodgy leg?”

“Yep,” Louis grits out, then sags against Harry’s chest. “See, that’s why I have to take them. That leg is so fucked up.”

“I know, darling.” Harry sounds so sad. “They just scare me, is all. I don’t like the fact that they make you so, like, out of it.” He strokes a hand through Louis’s matted hair. “I just wanna wrap you in bubble wrap and carry you around that way.”

Louis squints at him. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or concerned by that, babe.”

“Flattered please.” Harry shuffles down a little so they’re eye to eye, then he kisses his nose. “Can I take you out tonight?”

“On a Wednesday?” Louis pretends to gasps. “Unprecedented.”

Harry just looks at him. “Louis.”

Louis grins. “You may. We’ll record The Apprentice if we have to.”

Louis forgoes work that day in order to do an emergency session with Claire, and that helps massively. The leg is still tight and still painful but Louis really isn’t in a place to get any work done when his body is like this. He can’t focus and he can’t sit still, which is an issue when you’re kind of stuck sitting still, so he really takes his time to stretch out and let Claire work her magic.

They don’t go out that night either, or the next, or the next. They don’t even make it out the following Tuesday because Harry has to do a conference call for work, so they stay in and eat pasta and shag on the sofa instead, any awkwardness or angry words between them forgotten.

Hindsight is a truly wonderful thing, and in a few weeks Louis will realise that it’s this stupid sprained ankle that knocks them out of their routine, that throws them off kilter for a bit, that may even be what triggers the biggest fight they’ve ever had. Because they suddenly stop going out on Tuesdays, which unfortunately seems to coincide with Liam and Zayn temporarily putting a hold on Lads’ Night while their wedding gets closer and closer, and suddenly they’re back to spending every day and night in their bungalow together, just them.

Yes, hindsight is a wonderful thing, but right now Louis isn’t thinking anything of it. He’s happy to stay wrapped up and toasty warm in the big fluffy blanket they keep on their sofa, in Harry’s arms, happy that his stupid spasming leg hasn’t stopped him from getting a good fuck in like it did last week.

You win some, you lose some.

*

Louis has an itchy foot.

Like an unbearably itchy foot, itchy to the point where it’s starting to drive him a little crazy. He’s already dropped two pencils on the floor trying to use those to scratch it and he can’t _possibly_ carry on with work when it feels like this, and short of ramming his footplate into his desk leg he’s all out of ideas.

He’s not going to do that. He bruises so easily now and Harry would probably lecture him for the rest of their lives if he did that, which isn’t worth it.

Stupid fucking Harry, going off to take a shower at the most _inconvenient time._ He can still hear the water running, the familiar clanging of the pipes taunting him, almost, that he needs someone else to do something so minor for him.

It’s such a pain in the arse.

 _Imagine just being able to lift your leg,_ he finds himself thinking bitterly. He wheels himself back from his desk and undoes his leg strap, thinking that he’ll get chastised less if he calls Harry in to strap his legs back down over accidentally injuring himself. His legs rise up of their own accord as they always do and he reaches forward as far as he dares and _Christ,_ if he could just stretch that littlest bit further, if he could bend his foot back just a little to meet his hand…

His toes twitch.

Startled, Louis sinks back in his chair, eyes wide.

_What?_

Did he do that?

He hones his gaze in on his left foot, gripping his brakes and poking out his tongue in concentration.

His toes wiggle again. And then again. And then again.

That was him.

He _did that._

_He moved his toes._

_What the fuck?_

_What the actual fucking fuck?_

He has no idea what’s changed, he has no idea what’s triggered this; frankly, he has no idea if he’s always been able to do this and just hasn’t realised, but what the hell? He can wiggle his toes, on his own, without the help of a machine or a physio. It’s something so small, but something so big. He feels like he’s flying.

“Harry!” he screeches, too excited to care that Harry’s still in the shower and a whole house away. “Harry, Harry, Harry!”

Hardly seconds later he hears heavy footsteps running through the house. “Louis?” Harry yells back, and he sounds panicked. Louis would feel guilty if this wasn’t the most exciting thing that’s happened to him in a long time. “Louis, babe…?”

“In here,” Louis calls. When Harry appears he looks a right state, hair dripping wet, a clay mask drying on his face, and he’s stark bollock naked. “ _Harry.”_

 _“_ What the fuck, Louis?” Harry says, hands on hips. Louis bursts out laughing. “No, what the fuck? I thought you were in trouble, fucking _hell.”_ His teeth start chattering. “Like you’d fallen out your chair or something. What do you want?”

“Harry, Christ, I have a reason.” He carefully rolls himself closer to the door, aware he’s not that secure, and grins up at his boyfriend. “Look. Watch my left foot.”

He wiggles his toes again.

Harry’s mouth falls to the floor.

“Are you… are you doing that?” he asks, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Is that…?”

“That’s me,” Louis tells him, grin wide. He does it again and again and quite frankly he doesn’t think he’ll ever get bored of doing it. “I’m wiggling my toes, Harry.”

“But how?” Harry crouches down and pulls Louis’s sock off so they watch it properly. “Do it again.” Then he pulls off the other sock. “Does it hurt or anything or does it feel normal?”

“I dunno,” Louis answers honestly, then takes a deep breath and tries to wiggle the other set of toes. “Okay, I can’t move those ones, just the left.”

“But still.” Harry shakes his head, still looking dumbfounded, and then looks Louis straight in the eye, his face finally breaking out in a painful looking smile to match Louis’s. “This is fucking incredible.”

“I know,” Louis says, then does it again, just because he can. _Fuck,_ he doesn’t remember wiggling your toes to be so tiring but it isn’t going to stop him. “I know.”

“You’re a fucking genius,” Harry says before he sweeps him into a tight, damp hug. Louis clings to him and bites his lip to stop himself from tearing up. “An actual fucking genius. I’m…” He pulls back, takes Louis’s face between his hands and beams. “I love you. You’re amazing.”

“So are you,” Louis croaks. This not getting choked up thing is proving to be easier said than done. “I love you so much. Sorry I dragged you out of the shower.”

“I don’t care,” Harry says, but then his teeth start to chatter again and they both laugh. “Okay, let me go and dry off and put a jumper on and then we can transfer to the sofa and you can wiggle your toes to your heart’s content.”

“Brilliant,” Louis says. “Can you grab me a new shirt and jumper while you’re in there? There’s, um… sorry, mine’s now wet and covered in face mask.”

Harry laughs and nods. “Of course. Sorry. Meet you in there?”

And twenty minutes later when Louis is curled up on the sofa in a jumper that’s far too big, wiggling his toes on FaceTime to his sister and his mum and then to Anne and then Gemma after that, he doesn’t think he could be happier if he tried.

It really is the little things.

*

It’s another normal day when Harry gets a call from the BBC.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles right into Louis’s ear, voice thick with sleep still, as his phone rings from somewhere behind them. Louis forces his eyes open, scowling as Harry shifts away from him to answer it, wondering what the fuck is happening himself. The nurse isn’t due to come today, they’d both planned for a lazy day at the house, who on earth is ringing them?

“Hello?”

Louis can’t make out any of the words said by the tinny voice on the other end of the line, so after a few seconds he stops trying. He lets his eyes drift closed again and he’s just about ready for sleep to pull him under again, but then Harry says…

“So you want to interview me and not Louis?”

Oh. _Interesting._

Since his injury, Louis has done a lot of interviews for a lot of publications and radio shows and even one or two for the telly. He doesn’t mind doing them, but he doesn’t love it either because a lot of them end up being the exact same questions as the last and it’s repetitive and dull and he doesn’t see the point.

_How has your life changed since your injury?_

_How do you stay positive?_

_Do you think you’ll ever walk again?_

And some are the opposite, too invasive, too intense.

_Have you ever been worried your partner will leave you?_

_How do you still have sex?_

_How do you go to the toilet?_

None of your fucking business, that’s how.

But then again, nobody’s ever asked to interview Harry on his own before. He’s chimed in to interviews that Louis has given here and there, but that’s usually because he almost always accompanies Louis to them. They’ve never been particularly deep or meaningful, but a lot of these interviews in general aren’t. And it’d be a unique take on his story for sure.

(There’s also a part of Louis that, deep-down, really wants to hear Louis’s story told from his mouth when he’s not trying to sugarcoat it or placate Louis. It’s going to be interesting, that’s for sure.)

“... down to London for the day? Would it take longer than a day?” he hears Harry ask as he snaps out of his reverie. “Oh, okay.” There’s a pause. “Can I check with Louis and get back to you?” Another pause. “That’s fine. When do you need to know by?”

“Haz. You should do it.”

Harry ignores him, resting his free hand on Louis’s hip. “Can you email me the details and as I said, I’ll chat it over with Louis and get back to you before the end of the day, is that alright?” A final pause. “Brilliant, alright. Nice chatting with you too, Michael. Speak to you soon, bye!”

“Haz,” Louis tuts again, exasperated, but Harry hangs up the call before he can say anything else. He slides his phone back onto the bedside table then shuffles up the bed, hooking his chin over Louis’s shoulder and sliding a hand across his stomach.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” repeats Louis, tone dry. “What was that about?”

“Oh, just the BBC,” Harry says nonchalantly, and Louis tries to spin but he can’t and the two of them end up clunking heads “Okay, _ow._ ”

“Sorry,” Louis grunts, then sighs. “Hey, will you get this bloody tube out of me so we can talk about this properly?”

“Okay, you wanna get up?” Harry asks, kissing Louis’s shoulder before he shuffles back and gets up from the bed, fingers toying with the corner of the duvet. “Or just cuddle?”

Louis gives him a look. “You really want me to answer that?”

Harry laughs as he peels the duvet back, keeping it tucked over Louis’s feet so he doesn’t get too cold. “Sorry, baby,” he says, padding into the bathroom briefly before coming back with the small binbag they use to dispose all of the tubes and waste in. He carefully removes the tape and gauze that secure the tube into the Mitrofanoff in Louis’s stomach, then unclips the urine bag from the side of the bed and carries it into the bathroom. Louis hears the bag’s contents emptied down the loo, then the tap runs and the bin opens and closes. Then Harry’s back by his side, rolling Louis over so they’re cuddled together, and he pulls the duvet back up over them. “Hi again.”

“Hi,” Louis says in the same dry tone as before. “So the BBC rang you at 8am on a Tuesday, yeah?”

“Actually it’s 20 past 11,” Harry laughs, and Louis snorts, poking his nipple playfully. “Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“And what did they want?”  

“Well,” Harry says, taking a deep breath. “BBC3 are doing a documentary on the people closest to people who have undergone a life-changing injury or illness, and they want to talk to me of all people.” He starts to worry his bottom lip between his teeth. “It would mean I’d go down to London for the day, chat a bit about my side of things here, like, how I coped, what changed for me, how it’s affected my career and our relationship and that kinda stuff.” He sniffs. “What do you think about that?”

“I think it’d be very interesting to hear about your side of the story, Mr. Styles,” says Louis, hitching himself a little further up the bed as best he can. “You look worried though, why do you look worried?”

“I dunno,” Harry mumbles. He rocks his head from side to side against the pillow. “I guess… I dunno. Would anyone actually give a shit about my side of the story?”

“Well, I give a shit,” Louis says. “And yeah, I think lots of people would. It’s a unique take for sure and, like, I bet there’s a fair few people out there in your position who could do with hearing your side of the story.” He studies Harry’s face for a few moments, gaze firm. Harry squirms. “ _Baby._ ”

“I wanna do it,” Harry says quietly, mostly muffled by the duvet. “I think it’d be good.”

“I agree…” Louis starts, but Harry swiftly interrupts him.

“But I wanna be, like, honest as I can be if I do it.”

Louis furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, maybe saying things I’ve not… stuff I haven’t even told you yet, maybe?” Harry starts to chew his lip, so Louis reaches up and gently nudges it out. “Sorry. I mean, like, sometimes I can’t put some stuff into words about us, you know? And if I get on a roll with speaking then I don’t wanna feel like I have to censor myself, I dunno.”

“Haz,” Louis says gently, softly. “Of course, babe, of course. You… you shouldn’t have to censor yourself because of my feelings.”

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Harry says, and he takes Louis’s hand in his, pressing up his tight fingers and slotting his own between them. “I sometimes feel like I can’t get my words out and we all know this. I’m not the most eloquent person in the world.” Louis snorts. “And I’m not like, not telling you anything. I’m not unhappy or pissed off or anything like that.”

“Good to know,” Louis says dryly, but he’s smiling as he says it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I just want to handle it all with so much dignity and respect, you know?”

“Harry, I trust you,” is all Louis says before they’re kissing, slow and languid and soft, and then Harry starts giggling into Louis’s mouth and Louis ends up sliding halfway down the bed and everything feels sorted. Harry’s doing this.

It’s a little while later when Harry comes to find Louis with some more info about it. Louis’s reading over some stuff for Lottie on the couch, glasses perched on his nose and iPad balanced in his lap. Harry flops down on the sofa and pulls Louis’s legs into his lap, shifting closer.

“They want to start filming… well, soon, by the looks of it,” he mumbles, thumb swiping up and down the screen of his iPhone at speed. “I mean… next week soon.”

“Next week?” Louis questions, rolling over so he can use Harry’s torso for leverage. Harry lowers the phone to his height and he scans over it, taking it all in. What they’re asking seems reasonable enough - there’s a list of some base questions, asterixed by a paragraph saying they may ask for the person to expand a little on questions A, B & C depending on the ailment they’re discussing. Underneath that is a paragraph that says the interviewee may reply to this email listing any topics they feel uncomfortable answering, and at the very bottom is a disclaimer from the BBC about editing and allowing your answers to be tailored to the question if you ramble or your answers don’t come across explicitly clear.

Louis shrugs against Harry. “Well, I mean, nothing here looks particularly incriminating or out of the ordinary, does it? I say go for it, baby. I want you to do it.” He rubs Harry’s leg. “But if you don’t want to do it that’s fine too. You don’t have to just because I think it sounds interesting and fun and an incredible opportunity.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “That wasn’t a loaded answer at all.”

“I mean it,” Louis says, as sincere as he can. “Like, they’ve phoned you specifically and they’ve made the effort to find out about our story and whatever. It’s clear they don’t think you’ll be boring or won’t have a lot to say or whatever.” He smirks. “You may ramble on a bit, but…”

Harry swats at him. “Hey, you. Don’t make me more nervous than I already am.”

“Would I do such a thing?” Louis says, pretending to be affronted. Harry just shoots him a look. “Alright, fine. I’ll shut up.” He tilts his head towards Harry, lips puckered for a kiss, which Harry grants him obediently. “So are you definitely going to do it then?”

Harry waits a few seconds before he eventually nods, throwing one hand up in the air. “Sure, why the fuck not? What have I got to lose?”

“Huzzah!” Louis shouts, probably far too loudly, then kisses Harry once more, then again, and again. “Good boy. You’re gonna be so great.”

Harry pulls back suddenly. “But if I make a tit of myself on national television we are falling out big time, mister.”

“How is it gonna be my fault if you make a tit of yourself, you tit?” Louis titters. “You’re gonna do great anyway. You’re going to be talking about me, and we know that’s your favourite topic of conversation.”

“Hey,” Harry grunts, scrunching his face up indignantly. “I thought the whole point of this interview was that we’re talking about me for once.”

“But ultimately you’ll still end up talking about me, because you can’t help yourself, Styles,” Louis says, jabbing him in the side. Harry twitches and nearly ends up flinging Louis’s iPad to the ground, and the pair end up wrestling (and somehow making out, _Lord_ knows how) until Lottie calls Louis demanding to know why him reading over one Instagram post is taking so long.

Harry replies to the email later that afternoon letting them know he’s going to do it, and by the next morning there’s train tickets, a schedule and a further list of questions sitting in his inbox.

His trip down to London is the following week, on the Friday. As the day gets closer he gets increasingly nervous, chewing his nails and his bottom lip until they bleed and making notes in his notebook about potential questions and possible answers. And any time Louis catches him doing either he smacks him, because he doesn’t need to be this nervous.

“Babe,” he says in the same exasperated tone for the one hundredth time that afternoon. “Get your bloody fingers out your bloody mouth.”

“No,” Harry says, just to be annoying.

“If you go on national television with horrible chewed down nails and horrible lips then I won’t be best pleased.” He slaps his thigh. “ _Harry._ Pack it in.”

Harry drops his hand and wipes it on the back of Louis’s shirt. “Happy?”

“Bastard,” Louis hisses, skidding on his wheels in his hurry to get away. “Fucking _bastard._ ”

On the morning of the trip Harry’s alarm wakes them up at 4am. Louis stays in bed, bleary-eyed and only a little annoyed when Harry asks him for the 47th time if he prefers this shirt or his other (almost identical) designer shirt he’s purchased for the occasion. Lottie will be round to help him up and out of bed later, thankfully, so once Harry’s departed off with a quick kiss and the promise to call Louis once he’s on his way home, he easily drops off back to sleep.

Lottie turns up around 8, helping Louis into comfy clothes and making him a hearty full English breakfast. They spend the day in Louis’s office, because they both have a lot of work they should be getting on with, but they end up chatting between them for the bulk of it and not much work actually gets done. They eat rubbish sandwiches for lunch because Louis has no idea what’s in the house and Lottie can’t be arsed to cook anything more advanced, and then order Chinese takeaway for tea.

Even if it’s not the most productive day in the world, Louis loves spending time with Lottie one on one. Nobody tells you how much your personal relationships can suffer when you suffer a spinal cord injury, because the bulk of the time Harry’s there too. And he loves Harry to bits, everyone knows that. But sometimes, just sometimes, he wants to be alone with his sister, being daft and talking in stupid voices like they did when they were kids, without anybody else around. And he thoroughly enjoys the day, even if it does mean he’ll have to get up earlier tomorrow to catch up on all the work he hasn’t done today.

It’s worth it.

Even having said all that, when he hears the front door open later that evening and Harry calls out to alert that he’s home, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t missed him a bit.

“Hello!”

“Hi, darling!” Louis calls. They’re in the kitchen, sat at the dining table, both nursing hot chocolates. Harry makes a good hot chocolate, but it’s never as good as a Tomlinson one. “In here!”

Harry trots in after a couple of seconds, barefoot and wearing a tired but bright smile. “Hi, love. Hey, Lottie.”

“Hey, Haz,” Lottie greets, standing up to hug him. “How was it?”

“It was good,” Harry says, sliding into the seat next to Louis. He winds an arm around the back of Louis’s chair. “Exhausting but good.”

“Want a Tomlinson hot chocolate?”

“Oh my god, yes,” Harry says, his head lolling back. “I’m knackered, _Christ._ ”

“Was it a good day though?” Louis asks, rubbing a gentle hand up Harry’s thigh. “What kind of questions did they ask you?”

“D’you know, I knew you were gonna ask,” Harry grumbles. “And I literally cannot remember. I think I just did a lot of rambling, to be perfectly honest.”

“I don’t believe you,” Louis tells him, elbowing him lightly in the tummy. “Come on, spill.”

“I’m serious!” Harry says, then he yawns. “Urgh, bloody hell.” Lottie sets down the hot chocolate in front of him and ruffles his hair. “Thanks, Lots.”

Louis decides to drop it for now anyway, because Harry really does look beat and he’s been doing a lot of travelling, bless him. Lottie stays for a bit longer, just until she’s finished her drink, then leaves them to it with long, lipsticky kisses on each of their foreheads.

Once Lottie’s waved off and they’ve heard her car back out of the driveway, Harry swoops down and pulls Louis into the tightest hug of his life. It catches him off guard and he squawks. “Jesus, Harry. What’s this for?”

“I just love you so much,” Harry mumbles into his shoulder. He lets up his hold the tiniest bit, so Louis can at least breathe again. “And, like, I just… you know, talking about you all day and talking you up and having everyone in the studio tell me how wonderful you sound made me miss you, that’s all.”

“You’re a great big sappy sap, aren’t you?” Louis hums, but he tightens his grip on him all the same. “Mmmm, I love you too.”

“Good.” Harry sighs and then shifts back a little so he’s (thankfully) not crushing Louis as much. “Have you eaten?”

Louis nods. “Have you?”

Harry shakes his head. “Might whack a jacket spud in the oven or something.” He stands up properly to his full height. “Wanna go stick a film on and cuddle?”

“I’ll never say no to a cuddle,” Louis giggles. “Come on then, let’s go to the sofa, yeah? We can Netflix and Netflix to make up for all the TV we had to miss with your early bedtime last night.”

“I was literally only gone a day,” Harry grumbles, but does as he’s told. He pops Louis onto the sofa and while Louis lines up the next episode of Ozark he disappears, coming back in his trackie bottoms and a jumper, a blanket bundled up in his arms.

He even makes him a tea without having to be asked.

Louis has the best boy. The _best._

*

In the eight years Louis has been with Harry, they’ve only had three major fights.

Harry caught Louis smoking behind his garage when he was 17, and he’d burst into tears and screamed at Louis with such force that it still makes Louis feel guilty to this day. They’d only been together for three months, so Louis had no idea that lung cancer had killed Harry’s grandmother late last year, so he’d gotten defensive and snippy and they both said dumb things they didn’t mean.

It split them up for a week.

The second massive fight started on a night out for Harry’s 19th birthday, when a very drunk girl came up to Harry at the bar and slipped her hand into his back pocket before she started kissing at his neck. Louis was wasted, and in his eyes Harry, who was also wasted, hadn’t reacted fast enough at pushing her away, and he left the club sobbing his eyes out.

That didn’t split them up, but it took them a while to bounce back to normal.

The third fight was three days after Louis broke his neck and he’d tried to end it with Harry there and then. Harry has pretty much told him to go fuck himself, yelled at him and cried, and they’ve never spoken about it since even though things had been horrendous between them for a good few days afterwards.

The day they have their fourth starts out like a regular Tuesday, except Louis’s in a fucking _pissy_ mood when he wakes up. He’d slept terribly, with Harry’s knee digging right into the small of his back for half the night, and it’s not like he could move out of its way. So he’s tired and he’s irritable, sure, but he never expected not intended to start a fight this big.

Harry’s scrolling through Twitter as Louis picks at his lunch - leftover curry from last night - and he’s clearly getting very excited about something because his face breaks out into a giant grin and he starts humming to himself. It’s enough to make Louis put his fork down and raise his eyebrows. “What?”

“Not The Rolling Stones are coming to The Four Bells pub next month,” Harry says excitedly, eyes still trained on his phone. “You know, the little pub next to that little bistro in…”

“Yeah, I know the one,” Louis cuts in, then starts biting at his lip because he has a really nasty feeling that the place has stairs. They used to go there quite a lot, him and his old work colleagues on a Friday, but he hasn’t been since his injury and yeah… yeah, he hasn’t been because there’s a really rickety old staircase you need to climb in order to get to the place. So he can’t go then. “I haven’t been since before my injury though.”

“Didn’t you used to go there with Oli and Calvin?” Harry carries on, and he still hasn’t looked up from his phone yet. “Was it this place that did the pork scratchings the three of you used to rave about?”

“Yeah,” Louis grunts, then picks up his fork so he can start messing around with his curry again. “It was nice there, I used to like it.”

“Used to?” Harry finally looks up. “Is there a reason you’ve not gone since… oh.”

“Yeah,” Louis says again. “I mean, it would be nice to go again but I can’t go even if I want to, so.” He shrugs. “That’s okay though. These things happen, don’t they?”

“How annoying,” Harry mumbles, and he does look annoyed. “I got quite excited for it for a few minutes.”

Louis snorts a laugh. “Well then, go without me, idiot.”

“What?” Harry puts his phone down on the table and stares at Louis like he’s just told him to jump off a tall bridge. He looks more affronted than Louis had expected him to.

“Go without me.”

“I can’t go without you…”

"Why not? Do you wanna go?" Louis asks, crossing his arms.

"It's not accessible," is Harry's very diplomatic answer. Louis groans.

"That isn't what I asked though, is it? I asked if you want to go."

"I..." Harry takes a deep, shaky breath. "I'd love to go, you know that. But I want you to come too."

Louis licks his lips. "I would love to go," he admits, and he really fucking hates the way Harry's face falls even more, if that's even possible. "But we also are two separate people, and you've got your own life to live, and you should go."

"No, I couldn't..."

"Harry Styles, don't be such a fucking martyr," Louis snaps, annoyed already. Harry can go and he should go, he doesn't need to pull the sad puppy eyes on Louis. He is not turning this into another New York incident. "You want to go. It's not your fault the pub has stairs." He scowls. "It's also not your duty to take me everywhere." He shrugs, but it definitely doesn't come across as nonchalant as he wants it to. "I'll invite Lottie and Tommy over for the night, we can order takeaway or something."

"What if when we get there I lift you out the chair, and Liam and Zayn carry it up the stairs and we get you back in it when we're inside?"

"Oh, yeah, just draw attention to the fact that there's not a lift and I'm a liability," Louis scoffs. Uncomfortable heat pools in his belly at the very thought of having his fit, super strong boyfriend cart his heavy, deadweight body up some rickety old stairs and show up the fact that he's in a wheelchair. "You fucking melt. It's not happening."

"Yeah, well, me going without you isn't happening either," Harry says, stubborn as a mule. "It's a thing for both of us, and if I went without you then I wouldn't fully enjoy my night and I know you'd be at home, pretending it's not bothering you when it is."

"I fucking told you to go!" Louis explodes, whacking his fist on the dining table. "Fucking hell, Harry. I don’t know how many times I can fight this fight with you. You cannot live your life catering to my every need all the fucking time, you have to go out there and do things for yourself once in a while."

"Yeah, like when I go to work or the gym or when I see Gemma or whatever," Harry snaps hotly. "I live my own life just fine, thank you very much. I do shit for myself just fine. But part of my life is living with and looking after you, because you're my fiancé and I love you more than anything else in the fucking world, and that's what's important to me, okay? Not seeing the pub set of some fucking band that we once saw together back in the day." He tucks his fringe behind his ears and glares. "When your partner breaks his neck it kinda reorders your priorities in life, funnily enough."

"Fuck you," Louis says weakly, because if he says anything more he'll probably cry. "Fuck you so much."

Harry glares at him. "Well, fuck you too," he hisses. "I have no idea what you want me to do half the time, arsehole."

"I want you to live the life that you should be living," Louis breathes out, shaky and on the verge of cracking. Fucking hell, he hates fighting with Harry but he’s not dropping this. He’s going to keep fighting him on this until the boy bloody starts to listen. So they're fighting, apparently. "That we should both be living, ideally, but..."

"The life I want to lead is with you," Harry says, and it sounds like he's pleading. "I wish you'd stop acting like all you do is hold me back when that's not true."

"We've just established I am holding you back though," Louis grunts. "Because you said you wanted to go, and I'm telling you to fucking go, but you're not listening to me."

"Well, then surely that's my problem and not yours," Harry sniffs petulantly.

"Can you fucking stop being such a fucking martyr..."

"Call me a martyr one more time and so help me, Louis, I will walk right out of here and I will call your mother and ask her to come around because I don't want to be with you right now," Harry says dangerously. "I am so fucking sorry you feel this way, but if anyone is being a martyr right now it's you."

"How fucking so?"

"I am offering you ways to get around this, ways that us and any of our friends would be happy to carry out. We all fucking want you there, Louis, it's not just me."

"Yeah, but Harry..." Louis presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. It feels like he's about to explode with frustration and humiliation, and this is only in front of his boyfriend of eight years. "You're not the one everyone is staring at. They're staring at the invalid with the dead legs who is getting carried up the stairs in the gorgeous guy's arms, wondering why they're making a racket and blocking the doorway. And it'll be a gig, so we'll have to take the space at the front so I can see, and just..."

"You have just as much right to be there as every other fucker there," Harry cuts in. "And people are more than happy to let you through because they know that, Lou." He groans. "Stop looking at me like that! I'm trying to make reasonable suggestions here."

"Which I appreciate, but you're not fucking listening to me! I don't want to go, so please stop."

"You said you would love to go..."

"Yeah, I'd love to go if I could dance and sing along and feel like I actually belonged there, maybe."

The sound Harry makes next is so bizarre that it makes Louis jump, and he finds himself moving back a little. "I don't know what you want me to say, or why you're being like this," Harry crows, nibbling at his thumb. "This isn't you, Lou. Since leaving hospital you've always been game to do the same stuff, to live your best life. But recently..." He licks his lips. "What's changed? Have I changed?"

“We’ve both fucking changed, Harry,” Louis snaps, biting his bottom lip as his legs suddenly go into spasm. Why now, honestly? He snaps down the breaks on his chair and rides it out, breathing heavy. Once the worst of it is over he sighs and looks up again, and Harry hasn’t moved. He’s still watching, waiting, and Louis wants to roll his eyes. “We’ve both changed, and I... well. You tell me whether you think it’s for the better or not because, well, you’re still here and I’m still here, so. Clearly the changes haven’t fucked you off enough for you to leave.”

Harry’s mouth near enough drops to the floor. “What the fuck?” He scratches his head, standing up and then sitting down again so he’s back on Louis’s level. “What the _fuck_ do you mean, leave? I don’t mean whether we’ve changed enough to grow apart, for Christ’s sake.”

“No, but there’s still time,” Louis huffs, crossing his arms.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks incredulously. “I just said I want you to come to a gig with me, and now you’re telling me that, even though I don’t know how I can make it clearer that I don’t fucking want to go without you, you’ve somehow twisted this into me leaving you? Louis, I...”

“Well, _forgive me_ for thinking it’s somewhat inevitable,” snaps Louis, voice cracking on the final word. “I know you want me to come to this gig, Harry, I know that. But it’s not feasible, and I guess... I guess it feels like these events will come round more and more as we start, like, being able to do stuff again, because not everywhere is accessible, but you should go. And I’m worried you’re going to like...” He cuts himself off to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. “The last fucking thing I’ve ever wanted is for you to lose your life like I’ve lost mine, alright?”

“Lou...”

“And I really don’t want you to ever resent me, but in my mind that’s always been inevitable too,” he barrels on, unable to stop now he’s started. “Like, for fuck’s sake, you got the offer to go to New York with work and you said no because without you here your boyfriend can’t physically get out of bed in the fucking morning…”

“If I wanted to go to New York, I would have fucking gone to New York,” Harry cuts in. “I’m not the only one who can help you around, Louis. We went over that enough, didn’t we?” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “And you know what? I fucking like it, okay? I like being there for you and helping you and getting to spend that amount of time with you. We could have hired full time help, but we didn’t, because I thought you liked it too.”

“I do like it,” Louis says, and he _hates_ how small his voice sounds. “I wouldn’t want anyone else doing it, would I?”

“You tell me, because…”

“But I can survive without you for two weeks,” Louis snips. “Two weeks is barely anything, and _Christ,_ you’re only young. It’s such an honour they asked you to go, and, like…”

“I asked to go, actually.”

 _That_ shuts Louis up. “What?”

“About a year ago, actually,” Harry says, and he actually does look a little guilty. Louis’s heart suddenly feels like it’s going at about a thousand miles an hour. “When you were… when you were more open and less like this… less closed off and full of angst and you weren’t shutting down any of my ideas every five seconds…”

Louis gapes at him. “I don’t fucking shut your ideas down…”

“So come to the gig with me then, yeah?” Harry’s eyes are wild. “Or come to London for the day with me to see that exhibit I’ve been dying to go to for months. Or let’s go back to the park where we had our first date and we can lie on a picnic blanket under the stars like we used to when we were teenagers. Or why don’t we go on holiday to one of the holiday homes down in Cornwall that’s specifically for wheelchair users?”

“Because…” And then Louis cuts himself off, because he doesn’t truly have an answer. Harry isn’t wrong; he’s turned down each and every one of those things in the past three months, but he’s never really thought about _why_. “Because…”

Silence stretches over them for longer than is comfortable, and Louis hates it. A tear slides down Harry’s face, hurt and confusion still etched into his expression, and it’s moments like this where Louis would trade everything he’s ever owned for the chance to stand up out of his wheelchair and take his boyfriend in his arms.

“I guess…” he eventually mumbles, “I guess I just… I wanted you to be there having a good time too. And, like, if you’re having to get me up at half 7 every other morning so I can go to the loo or you’re not able to do something because it’s not accessible and you can’t leave me, or if I overheat and have an attack…”

“Are all things I’m willing to put up with, or be on the lookout for, but fucking hell, Louis, I don’t care. I would rather have you with those risks or whatever than not have you at all. Like, we can still go on holiday and do the same stuff. We can sleep in after the nurse has been, and we can find things to do together that are accessible and that we’re both happy to do, and for fuck’s sake, I’m _always_ on watch for you having an attack, so why would the fact we’re in bloody Cornwall change anything?”

Louis’s face is burning red. “Well, I guess when you put it like that…”

"You have been the centre of my universe since I was 15 years old and that's never going to change. Get fucking used to it." Harry’s hands are on his hips, arms akimbo, as he stares straight down at Louis. He doesn’t look as sad as he did a few minutes ago, now he just looks stroppy. “I get that you want me to live my own life, Louis, and I appreciate that so much. But the way you shut down and shut me out sometimes stops me from living my life, because I want to live my life _with_ you, not next to you.” He licks his lips. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you, baby. It breaks my heart every day seeing you like this because I can’t…” He cuts himself off, and Louis is so, so glad because he really doesn’t think he’s ready to hear the end of that sentence. “But you yourself have said this a million times - you can’t let it beat you. And for some reason, you’ve started letting it beat you. And I can’t stand back and watch you do this because I care about you too fucking much, Louis.”

Louis looks down at his lap, face hot and red with a mix of overwhelming emotions and humiliation. He never, _ever_ wanted it to come to this. “ _Fuck._ ”

“And I don’t wanna fight with you anymore because I hate fighting with you more than anything, but I do just wanna say one more thing, and that’s this. The last three years have been all about you, and that’s fine because it needed to be. But now it’s getting better, and you’re telling me to go out and live my own life and for things to start being about me again. And I do want things to be about me again, but I want them to include you, Louis. I don’t want you to think that you’re a liability when you’re not, and I want you to see me saying I don’t want to see a band that we used to love when we were teenagers doesn’t make me a martyr, it makes me a fiancé who only wants to go if he can share the experience with the love of his fucking life, because it won’t be an experience I want if you’re not there.”

“Wow.” Louis doesn’t really know what to say to all that, so he just sits there, staring into his lap, trying to process the three year’s worth of hurt and pain that just came out of Harry’s mouth. “That’s a lot of information to get in thirty seconds.”

Harry doesn’t laugh at the weak Friends reference, nor does he say anything else.

Louis feels sick. He doesn’t know if he’s pushed too far or not pushed enough, and it’s hard because he can read Harry like a fucking book, always has been able to because that boy is about as open as they come, but right now he can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling and that scares the living _shit_ out of him.

And he’s aware it’s selfish, he is, but sometimes, just sometimes, this selfish part of him needs to hear it said in words of one syllable, needs to have it reaffirmed that Harry still sees him and not the chair. They spend so much time together that sometimes they do get sick of each other, but Louis doesn't have a choice. He can't storm off in the same way he used to be able to, neither can Harry, and it's all because of him.

"If you want to leave for a bit then you can," he says in a small voice, looking down into his lap. "I'll be fine."

"I don't want to _leave_ , Louis," Harry spits, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes again. "I want you to stop looking at me like that, and then I want us to cuddle on the sofa and talk about this like normal, rational partners." He stands up and takes a few loud, deep breaths. "And no, before you say something catty, I don't actually enjoy storming out. It's not something I ever want to do."

"Liar," Louis mutters, but he wheels himself closer to Harry regardless, opening his arms. "I... fuck, Harry, come here."

Something Louis doesn't recognise flickers across Harry's face, and for a split second he thinks he's totally fucked up, that Harry is actually madder at him than he'd thought, but then Harry's crashing down to the floor, hard enough that Louis worries about his knees for a moment before he's being bundled up into strong arms. He wraps his own around Harry's neck and squeezes, tucking his face into his neck, where he peppers little kisses until his lips dry up. Neither of them say anything for a little while after that.

"I love you so much," he whispers eventually, when his whole body starts to ache and his chest feels too tight. "I'm such a bastard sometimes, I know I am, and I'm so sorry..."

"You're hurting," Harry croaks out, pulling back enough so they can stare into his each other's wide, shiny eyes. "You've been hurt and you're still hurting, and that's... it's okay to feel like this, Lou. But I can't... the way you take it out on me when I'm only trying to help... I don't deserve that."

"No, you don't," Louis says with a nod, using his knuckles to brush away some of the tears from Harry's cheeks. "You really don't. I know you're only trying to help."

"I'm not a mind reader," Harry says. Louis nods.

"You're not," he agrees. "And I hope you know how much I appreciate you and, like, I just love you. And not just because I'd literally die without your help."

"Shut the fuck..." Harry cuts himself off and lolls his head back in repeated frustration, then works to untie Louis's legs from the footplate, then without warning he scoops Louis up in a bridal-style lift and carries him over to their giant sofa. He sets Louis down on one side and hands him his big pillow that he uses to support himself upright, then sits himself on the other side, where the crease of the L is. He leans forward and hooks his ankle around Louis's knee, flexing his toes into the fabric of Louis's trackie bottoms.

They're on the same level now, and it's how they used to sit when they were teenagers too; opposite one another, hands linked in the middle, legs tangled. Louis misses those days wildly, but he appreciates what Harry's doing.

"I hate it when we argue," is the first thing he says. Well, it's more like rushes out, really, because he doesn't want to wait for Harry to say something gorgeous and sincere that'll make him feel even more like complete shit. "I hate it so much, but sometimes... I don't know, I just need to shout at you a little, you know? I just, I'm so frustrated so much of the time, and I..."

"I know," Harry cuts in softly, biting his bottom lip. "You've always known what buttons to press anyway, even before your injury."

"I know, and you're not wrong, you don't deserve my shit." Louis presses his own lips together. "Sometimes..." He pauses. "I don't want you to think I'm dumb, or stupid, or just... fuck, Harry."

"I don't think you're stupid."

"I like to know that I can push you and push you and you'll still be here," Louis blurts, and he cringes as he physically hears Harry's jaw crunch shut, his eyes going almost comically wide. He barrels on. "I like to be sure that there's nothing that I can do that'll make you leave, because I've pushed us to the brink so much already and you've never walked away."

When Harry next speaks, it comes out strangled. "Walking away was never an option for me, Louis. Not back then, and certainly not now."

"It was never an option for me either." Louis cracks a smile at the weak joke, but Harry remains stoic, eyebrows knitted together, thick lips turned down in a frown. "You know what I mean. I'm so, so lucky to have you, Harry. So many people... I feel like so many people would have just bolted, you know?"

"Did you think I was going to... to bolt?" Harry croaks, like he can't quite believe he's even had to ask. “Back then, when you were in hospital? You thought I’d bolt?”

Louis shrugs half-heartedly. "I genuinely didn't know. I thought... well, I don't know what I thought. I was on a lot of meds in the hospital and then we came home and everything was still the same and I just... I just assumed you'd stuck with me because we had the house and everything." The look of horror and upset on Harry’s face feels like a punch to the gut, and he’s quick to rush out, “But I don’t think that anymore, I swear.” He pauses, then licks his lips, because he really cannot lie to Harry. “Well, like 99% of the time I don’t.”

"I..." Harry's voice wobbles again, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. Louis feels like the worst boyfriend in the world, and what makes it worse is he can't even crawl forward and give him a proper hug. "I've been with you for eight years of my life, Louis. You can't just... I can't... I could never just walk away." He sniffs. "Please, fuck, please tell me you don't still think that. Because that's bullshit, alright? I'm still here because I adore you, yeah, and you deserve the bestest life and I... I want to share it with you, my best fucking friend and my childhood sweetheart and my..."

"Harry, pull me forward," Louis begs, forcing his arms out as far as he can, and Harry nods as he moves to scoop Louis up and into him. Their bodies crash awkwardly together, one on top of the other, and Louis feels exposed and uncomfortable but he's made Harry feel worse and that's completely unacceptable. He rings his arms tighter around Harry's neck and babbles out apology after apology, nonsensical shit that probably doesn't make much sense, but he needs Harry to know how fucking sorry he is.

"You utter fucking bastard," Harry sobs, but he doesn't let up his vice grip, his tears hot and breath damp against Louis's neck. "You piece of _shit_ , you _imbecile_..."

"I know," Louis says, and he's almost laughing because this whole thing is so absurd - what he just said is so absurd, but yeah, there was a time when he genuinely believed it and yeah, maybe he didn't mean to voice it to Harry today but he had to at some point. But the last thing he intended to do today was make Harry cry. "I know I am, baby, I know, I'm so sorry, I love you."

Harry sniffles and readjusts Louis in his arms so he can wipe at his nose and fuck, he's always so gentle and careful with how he touches Louis, even when he's furious and Louis probably doesn't deserve it. "You're a bloody fool," he says finally, voice hoarse. "I don't... I don't really know what to say, to be honest."

"I love you," Louis says again, shaking his arm so his hoodie sleeve comes down and he can use it to dab at Harry's face. And despite everything, Harry sinks into the touch, then hitches them a little higher up the sofa so they're less in a heap and more a pair cuddling one another.

"I love you more than anything else in the whole entire world," he says, and Louis opens his mouth to say something but immediately closes it again when he sees the look on Harry's face. "I've loved you for so long that I genuinely don't think I'd be myself without you by my side, and that's... that's the crux of this really." He licks his lips. "When I saw you lying there on that fucking football pitch and you weren't moving, my heart stopped there and then. I couldn't... the idea of losing you..."

Louis's grip on Harry tightens, and neither of them say anything for a while.

"But then you woke up and everything was shit, Louis, everything was fucking shit. They told me and your mum not to expect anything more than blinking and very basic responses to stuff for the rest of your life, and the idea of you, this giant ball of energy and life, stuck in a bed forever terrified me. But you didn't, did you? You do so fucking well and you go out and you see people and do what you love best and live your best life and I am so so fucking proud of what you've done and overcome."

"They told you that?" Louis says, voice small. "You never told me that."

Harry's hand finds its way into Louis's, uncurling his locked fingers and squeezing so, so tight. “Because I never wanted you to get that… that _bullshit_ into your head,” he spits. “My Louis was never going to be reduced to that, come on. You’re too determined, you’re too…” He cuts himself off, and Louis feels his body tense, his eyes dropping closed as he fights back tears. “You shine so bright, and you’re too important to me and so many people for you not to be the brightest spark out there, which...”

“I’ll come to the gig with you.”

That makes Harry splutter. “What?”

“I’ll come to the gig with you,” Louis repeats, almost shyly. “I want to come. I always wanted to come but it’s just…” He shakes his head. “It’s been so easy to get in my head about all this stuff, and you’re right. I have been a shit. And I love you and I want you to live your life and I also want to watch you get drunk and try and dance like Mick Jagger again, so.” He shrugs. “I’m sorry it took a screaming row to convince me, but consider me there.”

“I fucking love you so much,” Harry sobs out as he buries his face into Louis’s shoulder, and Louis wraps him up tight and cradles him close as best he can, peppering little kisses into the crown of his head. He’s exhausted, can tell Harry is too, but it’s clear that Harry still needs a bit of a cry so he lets him get it all out, take all the time he needs.

When Harry’s cries have reduced down to weak sniffles, Louis coaxes his head up so they’re staring each other down, and ever so gently and carefully, like he isn’t sure he’s allowed, he rocks forward to press the lightest of kisses to Harry’s damp lips.

“I would do anything for you,” he whispers against them. “I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Harry whispers back, then kisses him again, harder, firmer, tender. “And I’d do the same.”

“I know,” Louis breathes out, wrapping his arms tighter around Harry’s neck so he can drag himself further, further, further into the contours of his body and the warmth of his lips. Even after eight long years, Louis still doesn’t feel like he’s mastered getting close enough to Harry, and even when they’re pressed so close that every inch of their bodies is touching, sometimes it still doesn’t feel like enough, and now is one of those times. “Don’t I fucking well know it.”

“You’re not a burden or a chore,” Harry rasps, voice still quiet. He rubs his nose against Louis’s in an Eskimo kiss. “Everything I do with you is because I want to. And if I wanted to walk away… well, I mean, I would have. But I never want to get to that position, alright?”

“Please don’t ever leave me,” Louis hears himself begging before he can stop himself. “I don’t know who I’d be without you.” He pauses. “I know that’s not fair to ask and I’m sorry, but…”

Harry hooks his pinkie finger through Louis’s and squeezes. “I won’t ever leave you if you won’t ever leave me. Deal?”

It’s never going to be that easy. Louis is acutely aware of that. There’s so much still to say and so many cards that still need laying on the table, so much more he wants Harry to try and understand. There’s so much that could change, and a lot that could stay the same, and both could be their detriment, he knows this. But here, lying in Harry’s arms, the surest, safest place he’s ever known, Louis doesn’t want to think about it. And while he knows it’s stupid to make promises he can’t ever be sure he’ll keep, he’s serious as a heart attack when he squeezes Harry’s finger back and then kisses him breathless.

“Deal.”

*

Things are a bit up and down between them over the new few days, and understandably so. Louis still feels guilty and it’s clear that Harry’s still a bit upset by it all, so Louis decides to book the tickets to the gig on his credit card to prove to Harry he’s serious about going, which results in lots of frantic snogging and two (slightly messy but very worth it) orgasms on the sofa, so he counts it as a win. They invite Zayn and Liam as well as Niall and Hailee and few other mates so there’s a bit enough group for Louis not to feel so awkward and singled out, and everyone makes a big deal out of the fact that he’s coming and how great it’ll be. It only feels a _little_ bit like it’s done for his benefit rather than out of sincerity, but hey ho.

Ultimately Louis reckons the fight has done them some good, even though Harry’s still acting weird. It’s put a lot of things into perspective for him, for a start. It puts his mind at rest a little that Harry’s pinkie promised to stay with him forever because even with all this talk of weddings and marriage they’ve done over the past few months, Louis was still unsure over how much of it was truly sincere. He trusts Harry with his life and to be quite honest he’s not sure his insecurities about Harry leaving will ever truly go away, but it feels nice to know they really are on the same page even after such a harsh row.

And it’s also been pretty eye-opening to see how much of a hermit he’s become recently. He didn’t realise how much time he was spending inside, how much more work he was doing than usual and how little he’d seen some of his friends. He finds himself blanching a little when he realises he hasn’t taken Harry on a date since the summertime, so that night he books them a table at that Mediterranean restaurant they both love so much for the following evening.

They get a taxi there so they can both drink good wine and eat good food and it’s lovely to see Harry like this; he’s relaxed and he’s chatty and he is, quite frankly, the most beautiful person Louis has ever known. They mooch over to the cinema afterwards and watch a film that has them both in stitches, and it’s honestly the loveliest evening Louis’s had in the longest time.

When they’re cuddled up in bed that night, sated and a little sweaty still, Louis asks, “So. This exhibit in London?”

“What about it?” Harry mumbles sleepily into Louis’s shoulder.

“Is it accessible?”

Harry nods, bumping his chin against the back of Louis’s neck. “I’d assume so, why?”

“I wanna take you there,” Louis says, wishing he could roll over as he says that. “My treat. A weekend in London on me, with me. How does that sound?”

“Really?” Harry says, finally lifting his head. Louis cranes his neck back as best he can and nods. “Really really?”

“Really really,” Louis tells him. He’s been looking forward to this since he’d slyly booked it earlier that day while Harry was cooking lunch. It’s definitely accessible. “Next weekend sound good?”

“I… yeah, I think so,” Harry mumbles, brows knitting together. “I’ll just double check my calendar tomorrow…”

“What, our shared calendar that told me you were free so I booked it anyway?”

 _“Louis,”_ Harry hisses, eyes sparkling. “You’re a bloody menace.”

“I am, but I’m a menace that’s taking you to London,” Louis sing-songs. “Two nights, first class train down and back again, tickets for the exhibit on the Saturday and dinner booked at that Bluebird Cafe in Chelsea you love so much in the evening.”

“I fucking… you’re _brilliant_ ,” Harry stammers, scrambling up onto his knees so he can kiss Louis right on his smiling mouth. “You’re amazing. I love you.”

Louis laughs, winding an arm around Harry’s neck to keep him there so he can kiss him again and again. “I love you too.”

“This is so exciting!” Harry breaks the kiss to squeal, clapping his hands together. “And _oooh._ Can we go to that jewelers in Soho?”

“Sure,” Louis says. “We can do whatever, honestly babe.” He had a feeling Harry was going to ask about the jewelers and luckily for him Louis has already set some money aside for a ring, along with a little extra for food and any other little things he wants to pick up. “I… I want this weekend to be for you, you know? You get to pick what we do and where we eat and even what position you want us to fuck in or even if you want to fuck at all.”

Harry bursts out laughing and kisses him again. “Oh, believe me, there’ll be fucking.”

“Okay, good, because if I’ve forked out this amount of money to take you all the way to London for no orgasms…”

Harry cuts him off again with his mouth and suddenly not getting an orgasm is the last of Louis’s worries.

And unsurprisingly, their weekend in London is bloody lovely.

They’re up early on the Friday, and once the nurse has been and gone for Louis they dress quickly, shovel down some breakfast and then Zayn drops them to the train station on his way to work. They only have one suitcase and one backpack between them so getting onto the train is easy enough - Louis had called the station ahead and there was a cheerful young bloke with a ramp all ready for them when they arrived.

Booking a first class train ticket was _such_ a shout, Louis has to admit. They’re practically alone in their carriage, aside from a businesswoman down the other end with headphones in who doesn’t look up from her computer for the whole journey. They get free tea and croissants as they’re going through the Midlands and they spend the bulk of the journey pressed close, catching up on Netflix shows on Louis’s iPad.

When they get to London another cheery man helps them off the train, and once outside Euston station they flag down a cab to take them to their hotel. They’re allowed to check in a little earlier than usual to dump their bags, and after they’ve freshened up a little they’re off out into the windy London streets.

They spend the Friday shopping - they start on Oxford Street and dip into Topman and Uniqlo before hopping in a taxi to Soho, which is where Harry really wants to go. There are tonnes of hipster shops and bars and places to eat there, so they crack straight on to one of Harry’s favourites, a vintage clothing emporium at the top of the high street. Louis ends up handing over his credit card for the ugliest shirt he thinks Harry’s ever picked - bright yellow with gaudy red and purple flowers printed across it - but he just can’t resist those puppy eyes.

Lunch is hot roast sandwiches and a beer each at a hole in the wall restaurant opposite the jewellery shop Harry’s been holding out to go in. Once they’ve eaten so much that Louis’s almost tempted to undo his jeans somehow, they head over to the shop that Harry hadn’t shut up about since Louis told him he’d booked the trip.

“Do you have anything in mind?” Louis had asked after they’d ordered their food.

“I… yeah, there’s this one ring I really like,” Harry admitted, shrugging. “It’s quite expensive for what it is though.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky it’s not you that’s paying,” Louis said dryly, but he’s unfazed. He knows Harry really likes having expensive shit, and he’s already well aware of the ring Harry’s talking about - it’s platinum with a red stone in the middle, and it is gorgeous. The ring is a few hundred quid, but Louis would pay that twenty times over to keep Harry smiling like that. “I told you I’d get it for you, didn’t I?”

“You don’t have to,” Harry had mumbled, but he sounded so pleased that Louis had scoffed. “No, seriously. If you don’t like it…”

“I don’t care if I like it or not,” Louis cut in. “You like it, you want it, it’s yours. Now stop whinging and give me a kiss.”

Harry kissed him square on the mouth, a beautiful blush decorating his cheeks for the rest of the meal, and Louis knew he’d won.

The shop itself is small, small enough that with both of them inside there wouldn’t be much room for any other customers. Louis sits back and lets Harry mill around from jewellery case to jewellery case and it only takes about a minute before he’s pointing out the ring.

“There,” he says, stepping aside so Louis can roll forward and get a look. “Fuck, she’s beautiful.”

Louis can’t help but grin at the sheer excitement on Harry’s gorgeous face, like a kid on Christmas (a kid with fucking expensive taste, that is). “Mmmm, I see. It’s very you.” He rests a hand on the back of Harry’s thigh. “Where did you even find this?”

“Ummm, Instagram,” Harry admits, then snorts. “I know, I know, I’m a fucking hipster.”

“You are, yes,” Louis tells him, and as he says it a lady wearing a long dress and a headscarf emerges from the back, a bright smile fixed on her friendly face.

“Hello, dears,” she greets. “Sorry, I was taking a telephone call back there. Are you happy browsing?”

Louis laughs. “We know what we want, I think,” he tells her, looking over to Harry as he says it. “Baby?”

“I… yeah, it’s this one.” Harry points at it through the glass and the woman goes to grab some keys before she unlocks the cabinet and slides the tray it’s resting on out. “The one with the red stone.”

“A wonderful choice,” the lady says, handing the little velvet box it’s resting in over to Harry. “A very unique piece too. Each stone is different in its cut and finish.”

“What stone is it?” Louis asks. He has no idea about any of this shit. “Is it a ruby?”

“Yes,” the lady says, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “From Madagascar.”

“Lou,” Harry says, voice not much louder than a breathy whisper. He’s wearing the ring on his left hand and he holds it down lower for Louis to see. “Louis, look at it.”

“It is beautiful,” Louis tells him, and he’s not lying. It’s intricate and well cut and the stone in the middle is truly beautiful, and it fits Harry’s middle finger perfectly. “And you want it, yeah?”

“I…” Harry looks torn. “I do but I also don’t want you to spend this much money on me.”

“And I don’t want to be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life but sometimes we just have to suck it up, buttercup.”

Harry snorts out an ugly laugh, and Louis knows he’s definitely won. “I can’t believe you pulled the wheelchair card on me, you prick.”

“Yeah, well.” Louis shrugs then rolls forward towards where the lady is watching them with a bemused smile on her face. “We’ll take it.”

“Yeah?” She stands and gestures Harry back over, taking his hand to inspect the ring on his finger. “Do you feel like you need it adjusting in size at all?”

Harry shakes his head, his eyes trained on it still. “I think… it looks fine, doesn’t it? It feels fine for sure.”

She smiles. “It does,” she agrees. “Do you want me to box it up?”

“Yes please.”

“You don’t want to keep wearing it?” Louis asks incredulously as he fumbles for his credit card. “I’m about to fork over a mortgage payment for the thing and you’re gonna just put it in a box?”

“Alright, I’ll wear it then.”

“So hard done by, aren’t you, darling?” Louis says as he rolls forward, gesturing to Harry to reach for the card machine.

“I love you very much,” Harry says, very seriously.

Louis peers over at him. “That's two rings in one year you’ve gotten out of me. You’re never allowed to break up with me now.”

Harry and the lady laugh loudly as Louis punches in his pin number with his knuckles, then he sits back quietly and listens as Harry is given all the aftercare instructions and information about insurance. They leave with a giant catalogue and a merry goodbye from the lovely shop owner, then once they’re outside they find a bench to sit on for a bit so they can order an Uber (but also snog a bit).

Their cab arrives relatively quickly for London traffic and once the hilariously Cockney driver has helped Louis inside, he has to kiss Harry again.

And again.

And again.

“I love you and your little hole in the wall fucking pretentious hipster jewellery shops,” he says, coaxing Harry forward for yet another kiss. “And I love that I can drop that much money on you and it be fine. I love our lives, even if it’s a bit shit that it’s this way sometimes.”

“That got a bit deep,” Harry murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down Louis’s thighs, his ankles locked around Louis’s front wheels. “But ditto. And I don’t even know how I can say thank you for today, honestly.”

“You don’t need to,” Louis tells him, the _you know what you do to deserve it_ going unsaid.

And they don’t need to say anything else, so they don’t, not really. They chat idly about where they want to go for dinner as the taxi moves at a snail’s pace through the London roads, and by the time they get to Covent Garden it’s starting to get dark outside, so they get the last of their shopping out of the way before they find a nice little bar for a few cocktails and some fancy pies with chips.

“I am living la vida hipster this weekend,” Louis giggles once his order of chicken balti and pilau rice pie has been taken. “You’re rubbing off on me, clearly.”

“I’ll definitely rub off on you later,” Harry says in a lewd voice, waggling his eyebrows. His cheeks are pink from the cocktail he’s just downed. Louis snorts. “If you’d like, of course.”

“What a fucking line,” Louis groans. He helps himself to another of the olives in the middle of the table, only struggling a little to get it on the little cocktail stick. He wants to eat as many as he can before he’s drunk too much and all his (minimal to begin with) coordination leaves him for good. “But yes, sure. Let’s have sex. Why not?”

They end up drinking way too many fruity cocktails to even consider sex, and they end up toppling into bed in the early hours and kissing for a bit before Harry falls asleep mid-snog and Louis has to poke him back awake to get him ready for bed. They giggle and kiss some more before they eventually fall asleep with their legs tangled, no alarm set and no nurse to wake them, which is _perfect._

The next morning is a slow one, which Louis likes. They have a lie in and a cuddle then get a full English in the hotel restaurant, because their tickets for the exhibit aren’t until noon, so they take their time getting ready. They shower together as they always do, dress in warm jumpers and comfy shoes, then hail another taxi to take them straight there.

The exhibit is on abstract art and photography, which isn’t anything Louis has ever given a shit about, but Harry is in his absolute element here. He has his DSLR round his neck and pretty much leaves Louis to fend for himself as he snaps picture after picture and spends his time reading the information stands over and over.

“Fucking nerd,” Louis mutters, which earns him a clip around the head. “What?”

“ _My_ weekend,” Harry says with a pout, then brings his camera up and snaps several photos of Louis in quick succession. “Smile, baby.”

“Get fucked,” Louis tells him, but he’s laughing. “Take photos of the exhibit, you great big nerd.”

Harry snaps some more pictures of him just to be annoying, then pats him on the head patronisingly before he disappears off to take more photos of a giant canvas that Louis swears he’s already photographed.

Or maybe he hasn’t. Everything in here looks the same to Louis, for crying out loud.

By the time they’ve come to the end of the exhibit Louis is starving hungry, so they end up in a McDonald’s of all places, scoffing nuggets and chips at speed before getting yet another taxi to the London Eye, because Louis decided that if they’re going to be tourists in London they’re going to do it properly. He’d booked tickets for the Eye on his phone while Harry was wandering around the exhibit, but he’d foolishly misjudged just how long Harry would take in there, so they’re a little pushed for time. But they get there just in the nick, and they’re able to board their little carriage just as the doors are about to close.

“Being able to play the wheelchair card is great,” Louis mutters, fistbumping Harry as they shuffle in. For a Saturday it’s not as busy as he thought it would be - there’s another couple in with them, a young baby strapped to the man’s chest, and then a family of four in the other corner. “It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?”

“We’re barely even up yet,” Harry says, giving Louis’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Listen, it’s a tough old life being lower than everyone else,” Louis tells him. “Is this what it’s like being regular height? I guess I’ll never know.”

“You’re so annoying it’s unbelievable.” Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m just making a bloody comment.”

“I know, babe, I know,” Louis says, coaxing him down for a quick kiss. “I’m only winding you up.”

“Hmmm,” Harry says, but kisses him back anyway. “Now shut up and let me be a tourist.”

From the London Eye they head straight to Chelsea and they get to the restaurant just a bit before their reservation, but they’re seated anyway. Their meal is rich and delicious and alongside their food they split a bottle of red wine before they move onto cocktails. By the time they’re hailing a cab back to the hotel they’re both marginally tipsy and definitely handsy, which Louis takes as a good sign.

He has no intention of simply putting on his pyjamas and watching a film once they’re back in the room, that’s for damn sure.

Harry unlocks the door and turns on the light, then immediately turns the dimmer switch all the way down.

Louis snorts. “Subtle.”

“I’m trying to be mysterious,” Harry says, holding the door open so Louis can roll all the way in. He locks the door behind them and kicks off his boots before he walks over to the bed and flops down on it. “Clearly it didn’t work.”

“It worked,” Louis says with a coy smile, which Harry matches. “I mean, I wanted to have sex with you anyway, but you dimming the lights like that really swayed me.”

“Dickhead,” Harry tuts. “Come here.”

Louis moves forward, licking his lips. The atmosphere suddenly feels different now, somehow. It feels a bit more charged, a lot more electric, both men aware of and excited for what’s about to happen.

 _Like there was ever any question,_ Louis wants to snort, but he doesn’t.

“Today was wonderful,” says Harry, taking Louis’s face in his hands. He’s warm, cheeks and nose pink and little beads of sweat have started to form on his temples.

He looks beautiful in the hotel’s low light.

“It was,” Louis agrees, setting the breaks down on his chair before he covers Harry’s hands with his own. “It really was.”

“I love spending time with you like that,” Harry tells him, inching ever closer. “Just being us and all that. It’s my favourite way to be.”

“Same.” Louis wishes he could squeeze Harry’s hands. He wishes he could lunge forward and press him into the mattress, kissing him all over to thank him for coming, to thank him for staying, to thank him for being Louis’s. But he can’t, so he settles for dropping his hold on Harry’s cheeks to wrestle with his leg strap. His legs move up as always but Harry takes it in his stride and pulls them into his lap, then leans forward a little so he can shift Louis onto the bed with him in one easy motion.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” Louis laughs, winding his arms around Harry’s neck properly. He presses a kiss into the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Fancy bumping into you up here.”

Harry giggles and kisses Louis again, right on be mouth. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long for them to end up a tangle of limbs as Harry rolls on top of Louis and presses him into the mattress. They kiss and they kiss until Louis’s head feels dizzy with it, more drunk off of Harry than any of the fancy wine they’d had at the restaurant. He only pulls away when he feels Harry’s hands slowly start to trail down and start to rutch his jumper up, and he grins up at him.

“Feel like taking this further, do we?”

“Always,” Harry says, voice already low and gravelly. It’s a voice Louis knows well and he can’t bloody wait for what’s to come - no pun intended.

When they get Louis’s jumper off Harry starts to kiss all over his body, from his shoulders down to his navel then back up again. Louis wants to tangle his hands in Harry’s hair but it’s not long enough anymore, so he ends up cradling his head as he moves back up to his lips and they kiss again, and again, and again.

“Get this off,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s lips, fumbling as best he can with the bottom of Harry’s button up. Harry’s panting a little as he falls back on his knees and wrestles with the buttons and Louis finds himself licking his lips as Harry then reaches for his belt buckle.

“I have an idea,” he says as he undoes his fly and moves his trousers slowly down his milky thighs. “And it’s my weekend and I get to choose all the fun stuff we do, so I think we should do this.”

Louis giggles. “I mean, if it involves your dick and my dick then I’m already sold.”

Harry laughs and leans down, trousers mostly off now, and kisses him again. “Can I fuck your mouth?”

Louis makes a funny sound against Harry’s lips. They don’t do that very often at all, because Louis literally cannot move away if it gets too much or he needs to take a breather, but it was always one of their favourite things to do and Louis does love it, he can’t deny that. And he trusts Harry with his entire being too, which helps, so he nods as they kiss again, breaking it.

“Yes,” he hisses, his stomach already doing somersaults as Harry’s clumsy fingers move down to unbutton his jeans for him. He kisses his way down Louis’s bare chest and then starts to shuffle down so he can kiss the softer areas around where Louis’s jeans rest.

And then he pulls down the zip on Louis’s jeans with his teeth, and Louis loses all semblance of being able to handle it.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he grits out, half mumble and half whine. Harry just smirks.

“You love it.”

“I do,” Louis admits in a shaky breath, swallowing audibly as Harry moves his hips up and slides his jeans and boxer briefs down in one go. His cock springs free, halfway to hard already, and Harry wraps his hand around it, which makes his shudder and spasm even harder.

“I want to get my mouth on you too.”

“My turn first,” Louis grunts, though he doesn’t sound very convincing, he’s well aware. Harry’s hand is still moving on him and he’s pretty much all the way to hard. He’s not going to last at this rate. “Oi, stop that.”

Harry doesn’t stop that.

“ _Harry._ ”

“I want you hard,” he pouts.

“I am hard, and I’m also telling you I’m gonna come if you don’t stop that.”

Harry sighs but relents, dropping his hand before he shuffles up the bed on his knees. He grabs a pillow from the heap behind Louis and tucks it behind his head so he’s raised, then strokes a hand over his cheek and down to his chest.

“This okay?”

“So okay,” Louis clarifies, then opens his mouth, keen and ready. Harry moans and licks his lips, then gives his cock a few tugs before he slowly shuffles forward and feeds it in between Louis’s lips.

He starts slow, which Louis is grateful for because they haven’t done this in a while and the stretch is a little heavy at first. It takes a couple of minutes for him to properly get used to it, but Louis’s always loved having a cock in his mouth and quickly he remembers why he used to love this so much.

Sure, he’s sucked Harry off countless times, but there’s something about having Harry hold his head and just use his mouth that’s so fucking _hot._ And that’s exactly what he does - once Louis’s adjusted to the stretch he cups Louis’s face in his sweaty hands and he uses him, just uses him. And Louis fucking loves it.

Tears pool in his eyes and his jaw aches, but the way Harry moves, the way he looks at him, the way he simultaneously treats Louis like the finest treasure when he’s fucking himself erratically into his open mouth… it’s one of Louis’s favourite things to do with Harry in the bedroom and he wants to do it every day.

They’re both worked up and Harry never lasts particularly long when they do this, bless him. When Louis sees his thighs start to twitch and tremble he taps him three times and he pulls out, but he starts jerking himself off rapidly into Louis’s still open mouth. He comes hard and he comes heavy, painting Louis’s nose and cheekbones and lips with his load. Louis licks it up as best he can, grinning like a maniac.

“Look at you,” Harry says, mesmerised. “You look fucking incredible.”

Louis tries to laugh but ends up sputtering a little. His voice has never been the deepest to begin with but when he starts to speak he sounds softer and breathier than normal. “You would say that, you possessive little bastard.” He scrapes some of the cum off his cheek using his knuckle and licks it off. Harry groans again. “You love getting your spunk all over me.”

“And in you,” Harry grins, bending down to wipe some from Louis’s eyelashes. “Don’t forget in you.”

Harry never comes inside Louis anymore because the clean up process is not at all fun but Louis misses it and he knows Harry does too. He briefly weighs up the pros and cons of having him do it again, but decides quickly that they should try it at home first, in a familiar bathroom. Nevertheless, he snorts and feeds some more spunk into his mouth.

“Possessive bastard,” he says again.

“Sue me.” Harry shuffles down the bed and lies back on his haunches, wrapping a hand around Louis’s dick. He starts to move it slowly. “You feel okay?”

“Great,” Louis croaks. croaks. His voice will definitely be scratchy and rough for the rest of the night but he kinda likes it. He thinks Harry probably loves it. He feels himself jolt as Harry tightens his grip on him; the drag is dry but he’s definitely still worked up from having Harry in his mouth. “Keep doing that and I’ll feel even better.”

Harry laughs lowly before ducking down all the way to take Louis in his mouth, taking him from tip to root in one fluid motion. When he pulls back up he keeps his lips wrapped around the head, suckling on it tightly, as he moves his eyes up to meet Louis’s. He looks obscene like this - Louis’s dick isn’t as long as Harry’s but it’s definitely much wider in girth - and Louis can’t look away.

“ _Shit._ ”

Harry bobs his head again, and again, getting Louis’s shaft all messy and slick with spit. Louis’s head ends up lolling back against the pillow, an arm flung over his eyes, as Harry carries on working him with his mouth. Then he feels himself be pulled forward and he hiccups as Harry drapes his twitching legs over his shoulders, strong hands holding him in place so he doesn’t accidentally boot Harry in the head with a misaimed kick (which has happened in the past, he’s ashamed to admit).

Louis couldn’t move away in this position even if he wanted to, and he feels like he shouldn’t find this as hot as he does. He’s paralysed in more ways than one and Harry’s mouth is hot and relentless and everything he wants and needs. He almost wants to laugh but he can’t quite manage it, the pleasure coursing through his veins rendering him mute and helpless.

It feels _incredible._

When he’s about to come his body starts twitching in ways he can’t control. Harry pulls off because he knows what’s about to happen, then crawls back up the bed and starts to messily kiss the breath out of Louis. He’s already exhausted and he whines into Harry’s mouth, desperate.

“Let me come.”

“Wanna fuck you,” Harry says, voice raspy. He slides a hand down Louis’s back and rests it under his bum, fingers resting in between his cheeks, just a hint. “Be inside you for a bit. Can I?”

Louis nods hurriedly, trying to use Harry’s arm as leverage to move down, to get Harry’s fingers closer to where he wants them. But Harry knows exactly what he’s doing and pulls away, leaning back a little before he kisses Louis again, a lot softer and slower than he was a few seconds ago, the calm before the storm.

“Fuck me,” Louis gasps against his mouth, then throws an arm around his neck, keeping him close, which may be counter-productive but in that moment he doesn’t care. “Need to come, Harry, get on with it.”

He says the last part through gritted teeth, and Harry laughs again. “Need to give you some fingers first, baby, hold on.”

Louis whines again, and it comes out so petulant and needy that they both end up giggling while Harry goes over to rummage through their suitcase for lube and a condom. “I’m coming, hold your horses,” he says in a faux-stern voice.

“And I’m not coming, which is part of the problem,” says Louis haughtily. “Get back over here now. My boner is flagging.”

Harry levels him with a look. “I am not fucking you without lube.” He finally finds it and waddles back over, hopping back onto the bed with a triumphant grin on his face. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“It was,” Louis tells him, just to be difficult. Then Harry kisses him to shut him up, and within minutes he’s back to where he was. Harry wraps a hand around his dick again and pumps him slowly, gently, while they kiss, and by the time he’s moved his hands down to Louis’s bum again he’s back to fully hard.

“Can I roll you over?”

“Please,” Louis all but whimpers, back to being desperate and needy and twitchy. He pulls himself forward as much as he can and Harry grips his wrists before he carefully pulls him over so he’s on his tummy, face in the pillow and arms wrapped around the headboard.

“You okay?”

“Peachy,” Louis tells him breathily. From this position he doesn’t have control of _anything -_ he can’t turn his head, he can’t pull away, he just has to lie there and take it, and he fucking loves that. He finally, _finally_ hears the snick of the lube bottle opening and he feels his body twitch. But nothing happens for a few seconds, and all he can hear is a mix of his and Harry’s laboured breaths. “Harry?”

“Just admiring the view,” Harry tells him, then a few seconds later Louis feels the bed dip as Harry leans forward, starts pressing kisses down his spine, right across where he knows his surgery scars are. He’s only ever seen a few photos of his back since his operations, but the ugly line of raised skin at the top of his neck is something he’s got permanently printed in his mind. He knows Harry must see it every single day but it still makes him uncomfortable.

“Oh,” he stutters out, unsure of how to respond to that.

“God, so beautiful,” Harry says, because he knows exactly how to respond to that, then without warning he moves further down and plants a kiss directly over Louis’s hole, which takes him by surprise and makes him writhe against the mattress.

“Oh, _shit.”_

“Please don’t,” Harry mumbles, and Louis can see the smirk on his face without having to look at him. He brushes a dry fingertip over him but doesn’t make the move to push it in. “You okay like this, love?”

“Fucking wonderful,” Louis grits out, shuddering again as Harry presses his finger a little harder, but not hard enough to breach him. “Harry, I swear to _god…”_

“Will you let me have my fun?” Harry says, then without warning Louis feels the cold, wet trickle of lube on his crack, which makes him jolt. “See? That was fun.”

“You’re awfully annoying,” Louis huffs, using all the strength he can to raise himself up on his elbows and crane his neck behind him. “Maybe I don’t want to have sex with you anymore.”

“That’s a lie,” Harry says, then sticks a finger inside Louis without any more preamble. Louis lets out a sharp gasp and drops down off his arms, burying his face in the pillow. “See? That’s what I wanted from you.”

“You want me to be quiet?” Louis asks incredulously. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“No.” Harry starts fucking his finger in and out, in and out, then adds another mere seconds later. Louis practically mewls. “Yeah, that’s the kind of thing. Stop answering me back and let me fuck you proper.”

“You’re such a bastard,” Louis hiccups. “Stop fannying around and get on with it.”

“Needy, so needy,” Harry chortles, pressing kiss after kiss into the small of Louis’s back. Two fingers quickly become three and then three become four, and it doesn’t take long before Louis is practically vibrating under Harry’s touch, all semblance of control quite literally fucked out of him.

“Harry,” he croaks weakly. He isn’t beneath begging at this point. “Harry, I swear to fucking _god…_ ”

“I think you’re good,” Harry mumbles, then draws his fingers out, which only serves to make Louis twitch harder, and he whines. “Ssssh, baby, just a moment.”

“I can’t help it,” he grunts. He tries to shuffle higher up the bed once he hears the condom packet being ripped open, wrapping his wrists around the headboard and dragging himself up towards the pillows. He doesn’t get very far but then he feels Harry’s sticky hands drag his legs apart before he grabs a pillow and slides it under Louis’s hips so he’s a little more raised. Once he knows Louis’s comfortable he arranges his legs so he’s positioned in between them, and Louis can feel him ever so lightly move his cock up and down between Louis’s cheeks, teasing.

“You ready, baby?”

“I was born ready.” Louis jerks when Harry starts to breach him, but a firm hand on the small of his back keeps him steady. Harry’s slow as he slides all the way in, inch by careful inch. Louis feels like he’s on fire.

“Oh my god.” Harry leans down over the top of him, blanketing him, and carefully uncurls Louis’s hands from the bed frame. He’s so deep inside Louis that Louis almost wants to cry, it’s that intense. “Baby. Oh, baby, _baby_.”

“Harry,” Louis croaks out, then bites the pillow. Harry isn’t moving, not yet, but he takes both of Louis’s wrists in his hands and pins them either side of his head. “Oh, god, oh _fuck…”_

And then, without warning, Harry pulls back and rams all the way back in again, and Louis wails.

“Shit, baby,” Harry grits out, voice gruff and so much lower than it usually is. “Feel amazing. You okay?”

“Fuck me,” Louis demands through gritted teeth. “Harry, feels so good, fuck me…”

And Harry doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He fucks into Louis relentlessly, slow and deep to start, but as he chases his orgasm Louis can feel his thrusts getting sloppier and less rhythmic. He fucks him like it’s their first and last time, his hold on Louis’s sweaty, shaking hands never faltering, pressing kisses into the damp skin of his neck and his back, mumbling all kinds of soppy rubbish in between.

The low, familiar pressure in Louis’s tummy starts to build and he whines even louder against the pillow. “Harry. _Harry._ Touch me.”

“No,” Harry refuses, which only serves to draw another messy sound out of Louis. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. Want you to come like this.”

“Harry,” Louis moans again, shaking his head frantically from side to side. “Don’t… I can’t… I haven’t since…”

“I know, sweetheart, but can you try?” Harry kisses him behind the ear, then right over the back of his scar, like he knows. He must know. “Please try for me. You’d make me so happy if you tried for me.”

Outside of the bedroom Louis is openly the mouthiest little shit around. If Harry asks him to do anything he doesn’t want he’ll happily tell him to fuck off, and that worked for them. Since his injury things changed a bit, but he was always still a mouthy little shit. But in the bedroom he’s always been up for anything and would quite literally do anything Harry asks of him, and that includes trying something that may or may not be a physical incapability.

“Nnnnggg,” is all he manages to get out as Harry pushes back in, hips stuttering. He thinks he might die if he doesn’t get to come soon. “Ohhh, oohhh, _fuck.”_

“That’s it, baby,” Harry says, then he wraps an arm around Louis’s shoulders, pulling their bodies even closer together. His chin is resting on Louis’s left shoulder, their legs tangled together and Harry’s hips completely flush to Louis’s arse. “Come on, darling, _come on.”_

He carries on fucking Louis like this, pressed close and hardly even fucking, really; he’s pressed deep, and each swivel of his hips has Harry’s cock hitting Louis’s prostate on each little thrust. It’s enough to send him mad.

“Nnnnggg, Harry, _Harry…”_

Each thrust has Louis’s leaking cock rubbing against the pillow, which feels amazing but it’s _not enough._ Tears start to pool in his eyes from the overwhelmingness of it all and he wants to come, he’s dying to come…

“Good boy,” Harry mumbles into his ear. Every inch of his chest covers Louis’s back and that’s overwhelming in itself. “You’re such a good boy, my favourite boy in the whole fucking world, my Louis…”

“ _Harry.”_ It comes out as practically a whisper, and he’s almost surprised Harry hears it. But he does and he earns more kisses for it, coupled with a particularly hard thrust. Then Harry starts to pick up speed again, pulling Louis’s little body up with him as he moves back so he can get a better angle to fuck Louis at, and it’s game over.

His orgasm finally hits him, full force like a juggernaut, and he sobs into the pillow as pure, unadulterated pleasure shoots through him. His body goes completely limp and he can just about make out Harry muttering something into his ear, but his words are fuzzy and his voice sounds far away.

“Louis, shit, _fuck,”_ he hears Harry grunt out, then he too goes totally lax. His grip around Louis’s shoulders tightens and then suddenly Louis’s being rolled over onto his side, still pressed to Harry’s chest, Harry still inside him.

“Wow,” is all he can stammer out, hooking his arms around Harry’s to keep them anchored together, to give him time to recentre himself. Harry’s pressing lazy kisses onto his neck and into his hair and Louis honestly feels like he’s soaring. He’s not had an orgasm that intense in fucking _ages._ “Wow.”

“Wow,” Harry echoes, his breaths still coming out laboured. “Shit, Lou. That was fucking incredible.”

“I think I’m dead,” Louis pants, shaking his head. “I really think you’ve ended me.”

“Louis,” Harry scolds gently.

“Urgh, turn me over, will you?” Louis asks, wriggling a little. Harry does as he’s told and slides out of him, which only makes Louis spasm a little, then untangles himself from Louis’s hold and gets rid of the condom by dropping it onto the bedside table. Once he’s lying down again he pulls Louis into him so they’re face to face, and they’re immediately on each other’s lips again.

“The poor housekeeping staff,” Louis mumbles, barking a laugh when he sees just how covered in spunk the pillow under his hip is. “Jesus Christ. I don’t think I’ve come that hard in years.”

Harry’s dopey grin spreads even wider. “That’s all thanks to me, that is.”

“Yep,” Louis says, thumping him on the chest. “Your magical cock and your hot lovin’.”

It takes Harry a second to catch up, but when he does his face goes bright red, and Louis howls with laughter. “Oi, dickhead. I was trying to be cute that time!”

“Really cute, darling, really cute.” Louis lets out a long sigh and shuffles back a little, wrinkling his nose when he realises just how much of his own cum is still drying on his stomach and thighs. “Oh, gross.”

“Gross what?” Harry asks with a yawn.

“I’m so gross,” Louis says, jutting out his bottom lip. “Covered in cum, aren’t I? I wouldn’t be cuddling me if I was you.”

“Lucky for you you’re not me,” Harry says sagely, but he uncurls himself from Louis’s hold once more and moves to stand up. “Do you want a flannel, is that your way of asking?”

“I love you,” Louis says, smile wide and painful, but very, very genuine.

Harry’s walk is sloppy and a bit all over the place as he goes into the bathroom for a flannel to mop over Louis’s hot little body. It makes Louis giggle and Harry throws a finger up at him around the bathroom door, which only makes him giggle harder.

“This is partly your fault, you knob.”

“Partly, yes,” Louis says, only wincing a bit when the soggy washcloth is dragged up and over his chest and tummy. There’s definitely still some of Harry’s cum on his face too, but knowing Harry as he does he’ll probably leave that until their morning shower to sort out. “But mostly down to your awful coordination.”

“My awful coordination is what pushed you ‘round London all day, you ungrateful so and so.”

“And I very much appreciate it.” Louis makes grabby hands for him until Harry relents and leans down for a kiss, chucking the flannel onto the floor without a second thought.

It’s only a hotel room floor anyway.

Once they’ve kissed for a little (lot) longer Harry stands back up and trudges over to their suitcase for Louis’s bits and pieces, then makes quick work of getting him into fresh boxers and some bed socks and setting up his urine bag. He stays naked himself and then flicks off the light from a switch above their bed, pulling Louis into him as the room plunges into darkness.

“Thank you for today,” he hums.

“Mmmm, anytime, my love,” Louis mumbles back.

“I love my ring, like, more than anything else I’ve ever owned. I love my shirts even though you hate them. I love you.”

“I love you so much,” Louis whispers back, then tugs Harry’s arm tighter over him. He falls asleep easily, sated and happy and giddy with it all. He doesn’t think he could feel any better if he tried.

When an agency nurse knocks on their door the following morning, Louis discovers he does, in fact, still have Harry’s jizz on his face (and in his hair) and the poor woman blushes and doesn’t say a word all the way through administering his suppositories. It’s not his finest hour, and he can hear Harry laughing from the bedroom the whole time.

He’d kill him if he didn’t quite like it.

*

The Sunday of the gig rolls around quicker than Louis was ready for, because if he’s honest he’s been pushing the damn thing to the back of his mind, already embarrassed and still dreading it. But he’s well aware that this isn’t about him anymore, it’s definitely about Harry, and Harry is in such a good mood that day.

“I’m so excited,” he singsongs as he cooks their lunch - a good old fashioned roast. Louis’s half convinced he’s doing one of his favourite meals to placate him, maybe even to say thank you, but he doesn’t dare ask.

“I’m excited you’re excited,” is what he says instead. He wants a drink and he wants it now. “What time did you say we’re meeting everyone?”

“Half six,” Harry says as he stirs one of the many pots on the hob. “But the lads are getting here earlier for food. They should be here any minute, actually.”

“Great,” Louis says weakly. “Shall I open some wine then?”

“Sure,” Harry says with a nod. Louis really has no idea if he’s being blasé on purpose or not, but the chances are he is turning a blind eye to Louis’s jitteriness intentionally, not drawing attention to it so they can’t talk about it and risk Louis talking himself out of going entirely. Louis kind of loves him for that but he also hates him for it in equal measure. And even once the wine has been cracked open and Louis has scarfed a glass down in approximately 7 seconds, all he gets in an eye roll and a slightly snide comment.

Fuck Harry for knowing him inside and out.

The lads arrive just as Louis’s starting on his second glass; Niall first, then Zayn and Liam about ten minutes later. They eat their delicious dinner, Louis drinks more wine, then they all pile into a taxi just before six o’clock.

Once they get to the pub they all shuffle out of the taxi and stand in an awkward circle as they work out how will be best to get Louis inside. It’s a topic that nobody has brought up yet and something Louis doesn’t feel even _needs_ that much discussing. Harry will carry him up the stairs and the others will carry his stuff, easy peasy.

Sadly, nobody else seems to think it’s that easy.

“How do we wanna go about this?” Niall asks. “Who’s going to carry him up the stairs?”

“Harry, obviously,” Louis says just as Harry says, “me, obviously,” and everyone bursts out laughing, which quashes some of the tension. “If you think I trust any of yous to do this up all these stairs then clearly you don’t know me at all.” Harry holds out his fist for him to bump.

“Right,” Zayn says, pretending to be exasperated. “Shall I get Louis’s bag and then Liam and Niall both carry the chair up?”

“Sounds sensible,” Louis nods. He’s practically quivering in his chair, a mix of nerves and excitement pumping through his blood. Oh god, he’s actually doing this. “Do you wanna go up first then?”

“Sure,” Liam replies, taking a step forward. “Harry, are you gonna be okay holding him for that long?”

Harry just looks at him.

“Alright.” Liam holds up his hands in defence. “Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s like holding a piece of paper,” Harry mutters, grinning at Louis over his shoulder.

“Ain’t you sweet.”

“Are we doing this or not?”

“Yes, _thank you_ Zayn.” Louis bends down and starts unwrapping his leg strap. “Have any of you heard from the girls, by the way?”

“I think Jade and Jesy are already up there,” Niall says, pulling his phone out his back pocket. “Oh yeah, Jade texted about quarter of an hour ago. They’re at a long table close to the front.”

“That’s good,” Louis says, relief washing over him a bit. At least they have some friends to seek out rather than trying to find a table to accommodate him. He trusts the girls have found them a good table too; a good height and one that means he can see the band pretty well. “Okay. Ready, Haz?”

“I was born ready,” Harry says with a smirk. He bends down and Louis wraps his arms around his neck, shifting his bum forward a little and then he’s up, safe and secure in Harry’s strong arms. Their faces are level and Harry grins at him like he’s magic, then presses their mouths together quickly. “Hello.”

“Hello, yourself,” Louis mumbles, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of Harry’s neck. “You look nice.” Suddenly there’s a bang and both Liam and Niall are swearing so he scowls at them. “Oi, bastards. Careful with my fucking chair.”

“How do you get it to fold?” Liam asks forlornly.

“Why do you need it to fold? Just carry it up the stairs open, you pair of idiots.”

Niall grunts and rolls his eyes. “Is that safe?”

“It’s like ten steps,” Louis snips. “Stop worrying and get carrying.”

“Alright, fucking hell,” Liam grumbles, but obediently shuffles round the front and takes a hold of the footplate. “You got the back, Ni?”

“I hope so,” Niall gulps, shrugging to slide the push handles down. “Are you ready to lift it then?”

“To me, to you,” Zayn chortles unhelpfully, but it makes both Louis and Harry grin. “Honestly lads, you’re overthinking the shit out of this. Just lift the bloody thing.”

“And they wonder why I don’t come out as much,” Louis mutters into Harry’s ear. Harry squeezes his knee sympathetically. “Oi, lads. Get a wriggle on, will you? This isn’t the most dignified I’ve ever been now, is it?”

Liam and Niall finally get the wheelchair up and start up the stairs, Zayn right behind them. Harry gives Louis one last quick kiss and starts to traipse up behind them, all the while mumbling low, reassuring words that make Louis feel both better and worse in equal measure.

It’s no secret how much he hates attention being brought to the fact he’s the one in the chair and really in a scenario like this there’s no getting around that. The other three are waiting for them at the top, his chair is all set up and ready for him (they’ve even remembered to put the brakes on) and Jade and Jesy are waving from where they’re sat, their own boyfriends also sat with them.

Louis’s made bigger scenes in places but he’s also made smaller ones, and he’s suddenly very aware of how many of the other punters are looking at him as Harry slowly and carefully lowers him back into his chair. Once Louis is comfortable he ties his legs in for him, then raises up one of the handlebars so he can guide Louis over to the table.

“Hey!” Jade says, leaning across the table to kiss Harry on both cheeks before she leans down and kisses Louis in the same way. Louis has known Jade nearly his whole life. She’s one of the best people to hang around with because she’s hilarious and laidback and such a laugh, but also she never made him feel any different, even when she came to visit him in the hospital. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you boys! How are you?”

“Fab,” Louis answers weakly, trying (and failing) not to pick up on the stares and chatter around him. It’ll die down in a few minutes, he _knows,_ but right now he wants to turn back around and leave. But he won’t, and not just because he physically can’t. He has to do this, both for himself and for Harry. “How are you, love?”

“What you drinking, Jade?” Harry asks, tilting his head towards the bar. “And for you, Lou? What do you fancy?”

“Gin & tonic please, babe,” Louis croaks. Jade proffers getting a bottle of wine for the table and Harry nods then disappears towards the bar.

Louis doesn’t realise how much his hands are shaking until Jade shuffles down a couple of seats and folds hers on top of his. “You’re okay, darling,” she whispers lowly, eyes locked on his, then starts chatting animatedly about her new job. She’s always had an incredible way with words and it keeps him suitably distracted until Harry returns with their drinks. He slides into the chair next to Louis and slings an arm around the back of his wheelchair, and it’s the smallest gesture but it’s enough to make him feel like he can breathe again.

“What are we talking about?”

Gradually everyone settles around the table and once the drinks start flowing properly and some appetisers are ordered for everyone to nibble on, things start to feel easier for Louis. Now the initial fear of everyone has dissipated and he’s loosened up with a few drinks inside him he feels infinitely better

He nudges Harry and murmurs in his ear that he needs to use the loo. Harry nods and stands, then carefully backs Louis away from the table and towards the sign that says _Toilets._ Belatedly, they both realise that given the fact that the pub itself isn’t accessible it doesn’t have a disabled loo either, and Louis is about to lose his shit when they spot Liam jogging over.

“They don’t have a disabled loo, guys,” he supplies, and Louis has to fight not to roll his eyes. “But here, let me stand guard so you can do your thing and nobody will come in.”

“Really?” Louis says as Harry breathes out a relieved “thank you”.

“Yeah, course.” Liam shrugs. “Seems like the simplest solution, don’t you think?”

Louis nods, a little too simultaneously drunk and dumbstruck to say much else.

Sometimes he takes his friends so for granted and he vows to change that. There are plenty of friends who he’s barely seen since his accident, people from school and uni and football that promised to come and see him and then never did. But outside these loos are the greatest group of people that Louis’s ever known, and half of them he doesn’t see nearly often enough. And yet he’s got friends like Jade, beautiful sweet Jade, or Jesy, bold and brash and so, so funny, that he rarely sees. And even friends like Liam and Zayn and Niall do so much for him

It’s not worth alienating people for the sake of having to be carried up some stairs and having a few people he’ll probably never see again stare at him for a few seconds. He just can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realise that.

“Fuck, I’ve been a mug,” he says out loud. Harry raises his eyebrows. “Harry, shit. I’ve been a mug.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks. The sound of piss shooting into the little bottle is loud and the whole situation is wild and Louis is tipsy and everything about it is just so comical that Louis just laughs for a minute, shaking his head in slight disbelief.

“Tonight is lovely,” is what his hazy brain decides to say after a minute. Harry is still staring at him, his expression a mix of amusement and confusion. _Fuck,_ he really is lovely. “And you’re lovely and our friends are lovely and I don’t know why I’m so scared to come to these things when I have you lot.”

Harry flushes his piss away and then crouches down to kiss Louis, smiling as he does it.

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Jesus, Harry, you haven’t even washed your hands.”

“My tongue’s been up your arse.” Harry kisses him again then stands up and obediently washes his hands. “I think we’re past that level of polite courtesy, don’t you?”

Louis tugs him back down by the stupid skinny scarf he’s wearing around his neck and kisses him some more until Zayn starts hammering on the door and demanding that he needs a piss as well.

“Let’s go drink more,” Louis grins as Harry shoves the bottle back into Louis’s backpack. “I’ll get the next round in, yeah?”

And really, the rest of the night is brilliant. His friends sing with him and dance around him, Liam holding his hands above his head and Zayn stood in between them, swaying him by his shoulders, singing intentionally out of tune and right into his ear.

Harry makes true to his promise and pretends to dance like Mick Jagger when I Can’t Get No Satisfaction comes on, a throwback to their uni days, and makes a right tit of himself by almost falling over a bar stool, which has everyone in absolute stitches. Louis can’t remember the last time he laughed this hard. Probably not since uni, or even since his injury.

It’s a good feeling to be able to laugh like this again.

When Wild Horses comes on, which Harry has always said will be the song they have their first dance to at their wedding, Louis finds himself welling up and seeking Harry out from the sea of people around him. And it seems like Harry feels the same, because he comes up behind Louis and gives his shoulders a gentle squeeze, then stays there for the whole nine minutes of the song. Once it’s over he moves round to the front and takes Louis’s face in between his hands, then kisses him like they used to when they’d go out clubbing together at university, messy and uncaring and so, so in love with each other. They only pull apart when Niall throws a coaster at them, but they stay holding hands for the rest of the set.

Even once the band has finished their set and packed up they’re all still there, drinking and dancing and celebrating even though it’s late and it’s Sunday and the bulk of them have work in the morning. In fact, they don’t so much leave as get kicked out for staying well into the early hours, and even though everyone’s smashed both Louis and his wheelchair make it down the steps in one piece. They all pile in one giant taxi and make the driver take them to a McDonald’s drive thru, then once they’re at Louis and Harry’s they all pile inside and carry on the party.

It’s the best night Louis’s had in years, and he hates himself a little for even considering this to be a terrible idea. He wakes up feeling rough and a little queasy the next day, and only has the energy to throw a weak punch in Harry’s direction when he says, “I told you so.”

“Shut your big fat mouth,” he grunts into the pillow, “Or I’m never sucking your dick ever again.”

“Okay, my love,” Harry sing-songs, then starts pressing kisses all over his face. He never gets hangovers, the bastard. Louis whines loudly and tries to get him off, but it’s to no avail. Eventually he goes limp and lets Harry kiss him, and he’s not happy about it but he supposes Harry can be right, _just_ this once.

It was worth it for a night like that anyway.

*

In all honesty, Louis had forgotten about Harry’s televisual debut with the BBC until a week before its due to air and they get an email with the date.

And by the looks of things Harry had too, because he checks his phone one morning at the breakfast table and suddenly pales.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, eye wide.

“I… um,” Harry starts, then lets out a shock of laughter. “My interview, you know, for that show on the BBC. It’s airing in ten days.”

“Oh, _yeah,_ ” Louis crows, clapping his hands together in delight. “Your grand debut. Shit, I can’t believe I’d forgotten about that.”

“Me neither,” Harry croaks, then glugs down the rest of his orange juice in one go.

Harry is slightly off for the rest of the morning, shrugging off all of Louis’s questions both about the interview and about whether he’s okay. It’s really not like Harry to be nervous about something like this, particularly something everyone in their lives already knew about, but Louis decides not to dwell on it too much because he doesn’t want to wind him anymore. Chances are he’s just twigged he’s going to be watched by people outside of his immediate circle or he’s nervous about something so silly he doesn’t want to voice it to Louis, so he drops it and carries on working as usual.

He brings it up again a couple of days later.

“Hey, so I was thinking,” he muses, slurping away at his cereal, “that we could invite a few friends and family round to watch your thing. Your documentary thing.”

Harry chokes on his muesli. “Friends and family?” He hammers his chest with his fist, regains his composure. “You mean more than Liam, Zayn, Niall and Hailee?”

“Yes, I mean more than Liam, Zayn, Niall and Hailee,” Louis tuts. “Do you honestly think your mother is going to let you get away with watching it without her? Do you know her at all?”

“Fuck off,” Harry whines, standing up and chucking the rest of what’s left in his bowl into the bin. “I don’t want this to be a big thing. It’s just a ten minute thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but you’re on the _telly,_ Harry,” Louis says, exasperated. God, his boyfriend can be thick sometimes. “We need to mark the occasion somehow.”

“No, we do not.”

“Yes, we do,” Louis sing-songs. “We definitely do. Your mum and sister and Robin, my mum and everyone, then Liam and Zayn, Niall and Hailee, maybe some of the other lot?”

“Louis,” Harry says lowly, dangerously. “Have you already invited them?”

Louis doesn’t meet his eyes. “No…”

“Louis Tomlinson, I will fucking strangle you if…”

“Only the people I said!” Louis holds his hands up in defense. “Only our families and a few of our friends. I just thought it would be rude not to.” He pauses, biting his lip, before he rushes out, “Also your mum called me and told me to tell you she’s coming round whether you like it or not.”

“That bloody woman,” Harry hisses, then slumps against the counter, head in his hands. “Fucking hell. I don’t want to do this, Louis.”

“Babe,” Louis says slowly, blinking at him. “I think you’re overthinking it, darling.”

“Am not,” Harry says petulantly. “I just don’t want everyone to be there for a televised watch of me gushing about how proud of you I am.”

Louis’s chest swells with pride. “Aww, baby.” He rolls over to where Harry’s standing, knocking his leg gently with his front wheel. “But I want that. I really, really want that.”

And he usually gets what he wants when it comes to Harry, so when everyone he knows and loves comes round on the night of the documentary, Harry just has to grin and bare it.

Well…

“Why the bloody hell have you brought popcorn?” he whines when Liam, Zayn and Niall all turn up together, each holding a giant bucket of cinema popcorn in their hands. Louis howls with laughter. “This isn’t fair.”

“We’re just ready to be thoroughly entertained,” Zayn says, clapping him merrily on the back before he throws Louis a wink. “So we brought popcorn.” He holds it right under Harry’s nose. “Want some? I got salty, Liam and Niall got sweet.”

“I literally hate you all so much,” Harry grumbles, but fetches them all a beer anyway.

Hailee and Lucy appear next, followed by Stan, then eventually followed by Jay and all Louis’s siblings. Bringing up the rear are Anne, Robin and Gemma, who are running a little late because Gemma’s train in from work was delayed, but they make it in in the nick of time.

Harry quickly transfers him from his chair to the sofa, then hurries into the kitchen to make his mum a cuppa. The credits from the show beforehand finish rolling and he makes it back just as they’re announcing what’s coming next, plonking down next to Gemma on the far sofa.

“Shut up, it’s starting!” Louis yells, and thankfully everyone goes quiet.

There’s a little intro segment with a few shots of Harry and even a couple of him and Louis while the narrator explains the premise of the show.

“There are over 11 million people living with disabilities in the UK alone, and over 80% of those people became disabled later in life.”

“These disabilities are not always visible, but the majority do require external care of some sort. Oftentimes this care falls to those who closest to them, who never thought they’d be living and working as full time carers for their loved ones.”

“This programme will look at some of these individuals whose loved ones, whether that be their partner, parent, or child, have become disabled in recent years and their lives have changed forever. These are their stories.”

 **_Living With Disability: The Other Side Of The Story_ **flashes across the screen and everyone oohs.

The first story is told by the husband of a lady who went blind in her sleep, and to this day doctors still can’t work out what triggered it. The second story is told by an 18-year-old lad whose dad lost both his arms in a motorbike accident, and the third is a mother whose son has restricted growth. Harry’s on last, and when he finally appears on the screen everyone, including Louis, cheers.

“My name’s Harry, I’m 23 years old and I’m from Cheshire,” TV Harry is saying. “But now I live in North Yorkshire and I work as a freelance food critic.”

“Nice little dating profile you wrote yourself there,” Niall snorts, elbowing Harry in the stomach. Harry swats at him.

“My boyfriend Louis and I have been together since I was 15 years old and he was 17,” TV Harry continues. “I moved to Yorkshire at the beginning of my GCSEs and I didn’t really have many friends in my year to begin with, so my mum thought that maybe I would like to join the local football team, which it turned out that Louis was captain of.” Then he grins, looking down into his lap like he’s embarrassed. “It also turned out I was really, _really_ bad at football.”

Louis, along with the rest of the room, cackles.

“To be honest, I don’t think Louis liked me in the beginning because I really was absolutely terrible,” TV Harry says, then pretends to hang his head. “Like shockingly bad. It’s a miracle I wasn’t kicked from the team to be honest. But my mum was adamant I stay because I was making some good friends, so she offered to pay Louis, like, twenty quid a week to tutor me a couple of evenings outside of team practice.”

“I didn’t _not_ like you,” Louis insists, bottom lip jutting out. “I didn’t understand you, maybe. But I wanted the money so I put up with you.”

“An absolute saint,” Harry drawls, waving a hand at him to be quiet.

“The first couple of weeks we actually practiced football,” TV Harry carries on. “But then these practice sessions kind of turned into us maybe accidentally snogging up against the massive oak tree at the back of the park, and I never really got any better at football. _But_ I did get a boyfriend out of it and in my 15 year old mind that made me the coolest person _ever._ ” His cheeks colour bright red. “Sorry, Mum.”

“Like I didn’t know, dear,” Anne drawls sardonically, squeezing her son’s shoulders as everyone laughs on.

“Louis was pretty popular in school anyway, what with him being captain of the football team and the class clown as well, so being seen with him and wanted by him was, like, a massive ego boost,” TV Harry laughs as Real Life Harry goes even redder and buries his face in a pillow. Louis finds himself grinning so wide his jaw hurts a bit. “And it’s always cool when you’re going out with someone older, isn’t it? I just thought I was so cool, and it seemed even wilder to me that Louis seemed to like me just as much as I liked him.”

“Awww, babe,” Louis coos. “You’re going to give me a big fat head.”

“You already have a big fat head,” Harry grumbles.

“When Louis finished Sixth Form he went off to a uni not too far away so I used to travel over to him on weekends or he would come home. We were kind of long-distance but not really because we saw each other at least once every fortnight, and I did miss him but it wasn’t, like, hard enough for us to break up over,” TV Harry says. “So we had a year apart there because Louis failed his A-Levels the first time around because he was too busy playing football…”

“ _Oi,”_ Louis snips, scowling indignantly at Real Life Harry. “Cheeky bastard.”

“... but then he got accepted onto his graphic design course, which only came to the uni the year he applied, so it was for the best, really,” TV Harry says.

Real Life Harry sticks out his tongue at Louis.

“And then I followed a year later. When I graduated Louis had been living back at home for a bit, so it was a no-brainer for us to get a flat together somewhere local. We both had just started new jobs in the city so we were already commuting, but Louis has a big family with a lot of little ones so he wanted to stay close to home and so did I. So we found a little flat about a mile from his mum’s and a couple of miles from my mum’s and it was perfect.”

The background music turns sombre all of a sudden and across the screen flashes some old photos of the pair of them, a few of which Louis hasn’t seen or even thought about in years. There’s a couple of their old football team, one from a match where they’re hugging (that one must be from before they were even together), and then a couple from the early days in their relationship - one at a restaurant with Louis’s family and another an awkward selfie of them pressed close together on Harry’s grandmother’s hideous sofa.

It makes something low and nostalgic tug in Louis’s belly, and suddenly he really wants to reach for Harry. He refrains, though, because TV Harry is now talking again.

“The day of Louis’s accident wasn’t anything special or anything, just a normal Thursday. We would always meet at the football pitch after work and Louis would play a match and I would watch, then we’d go out with a few of the lads afterwards for dinner at our local pub. It’s something we’d been doing for maybe three years at this point so I never worried anything was going to happen.”

“There was a new team that Louis’s team were playing, I didn’t recognise them. And the game started out like any other, you know, kicking and yelling and mostly just having fun with it like they always do.”

“But then suddenly, and to be quite honest I’m still not one hundred percent sure on what happened because it all just became a massive blur, but Louis was tackled by the biggest guy on the other team and he just…” TV Harry pauses, composes himself. “He just went down. And he never got back up. And it was the worst moment of my entire life.”

Louis gulps, purposefully not looking at Real Life Harry, even though he can definitely feel him looking at him.

“Liam, Louis’s best mate who was also on the team, ran straight over and offered a hand to pull him back up, and I couldn’t hear what either of them were saying, and to be honest I really just thought Louis was being dramatic, you know, that he was going to stand back up any second. But then Liam dropped to the floor next to him and they kept talking and then he yelled for someone to call an ambulance so I just, like, jumped down all the stands and bolted onto the pitch. I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do or say or anything, I just freaked out because Louis was lying there and he was crying and Liam was crying and then _I_ started crying…” He pauses and wipes his face. “You couldn’t _pay_ me to relive that moment, honestly.”

“The ambulance arrived and the paramedics kept asking him questions and feeling random bits of his body and he just kept crying so I kept crying and I don’t even know how they knew what was wrong with him or if they had any idea of the full extent of his injuries at that point. And when we got to the hospital they rushed him straight into surgery and told me they weren’t sure how long it was going to be. So I stood there and balled my eyes out in this hospital corridor for I don’t even know how long, and then everyone started turning up - my mum and stepdad, his mum and stepdad, all his siblings, our friends - and… to be honest a lot of that is a blur too.” He sniffs. “All I knew at that time was that I’d just watched the love of my life get whisked into surgery and I had no idea what was going on, or if he was ever even coming back to me, which looking back is dramatic and excessive, but I really felt like that the first few hours.”

“When the doctors finally came out to us it was close to midnight and I was ready to rip my own hair out, honestly. I can’t remember what any of them looked like or what their exact words were, like, it’s all such a giant blur, but I do remember them saying the word ‘paralysed’ and the next thing I knew I was being held upright by Louis’s sister and her boyfriend because I’d… I’d just gone down, I’d fainted.”

TV Harry keeps on biting his lip and Louis finds himself wondering how it hasn’t started to bleed yet. “It felt like such a finite term and it was terrifying, really, because people like Louis don’t get paralysed, you know? People who are paralysed are _other_ people, aren’t they? Nobody I’ve ever known has been paralysed so to hear that my Louis…” His voice cracks on Louis’s name. “My Louis was going to be paralysed? I lost it.”

“Louis has an incomplete fracture to his C6 Vertebrae, which is at the top of his spine, which doctors reckon was injured earlier on in his life unknowingly, so when he fell it was already weak, hence how it fractured so easily.” He wipes at his eyes again. “And when they tell you things like that, you start to wonder if it’s your fault somehow. You know, did I inadvertently cause this that time I snatched the duvet off him and he rolled out of bed onto the wooden bedroom floor? Or that time I tackled him on a bouncy castle and we both bounced off and hit the concrete ground?” He shrugs. “And it sounds so dumb when you say it like that but at the time it was all I could think about. It seemed like it had to be my fault somehow and I couldn’t work out _why.”_

Lottie slips her hand into Louis’s and squeezes, and thankfully doesn’t say anything about the lone tear that’s escaped Louis’s eye.

“When Louis woke up one of the first things he tried to do was finish with me and I was so _angry_ with him. He’d been out for three days at this point, then he wakes up, doesn’t speak to anyone and then suddenly he’s talking to me telling me it’ll be easier for me if I walk away.” He snorts humourlessly. “I told him to get stuffed. I wasn’t going anywhere, and he would do well to never ask anything like that of me again.” TV Harry now turns and looks straight down the camera. “Louis, you bloody idiot. Stop telling me my life would be easier if I didn’t have to look after you. It really, really wouldn’t.”

Everyone in the room chuckles at that, but Louis straight up barks a loud, ugly, obnoxious laugh, shaking his head. The whole thing just seems so _absurd_ sometimes. He finally dares to look at Harry, who simply shrugs at him, and he mouths “ _I love you”_ before shaking his head once more, turning back to the telly.

“Basically from that moment on all of us were planning adjustments that we could make. I rang my work and tried to essentially hand in my notice over the phone but they told me to take however much time I needed, do what I needed to do and my job would still be there, which was amazing. My stepdad has a bungalow on the other side of town and he pretty much offered me the keys for it there and then, saying we could work to make it wheelchair-friendly and renovate it how we needed to. Everyone was so incredible in their support from the get-go and it felt incomprehensible, almost, to have our community rally around us in the way that they did.”

“Paul who owns the local pub started raising money for Louis pretty much straight away. Everyone was donating and I didn’t really have a grasp on just how much people wanted to help until a cheque from a load of the local businesses came through for five thousand pounds and I just… I cried again.” He snorts. “I did a lot of crying in the first few weeks, I have to admit.”

Louis really, _really_ wants to hold him right now.

“You don’t realise just how much of an impact an injury like this has until you see it first hand, you really don’t.” On the screen, pictures of Louis in his hospital bed with tubes and machines surrounding him appear; ones of him looking exhausted and really quite ill, one of him with his mum and the younger twins, one of him with Harry’s head on his shoulder, their arms around each other, and one of him laughing with Niall and Zayn a couple of months into his stay.

“Louis has always been such a character. He loves to fill a room with his presence and he’s loud and cocky and obnoxious and he’s always cracking jokes. He loves to make people laugh and play pranks on his friends and he always had such an energy about him, but it was like that bright light in him just went out. He suddenly became so reserved and so… it was like he didn’t know how to be himself like this, and watching the person you love so much become a shell overnight like that… well, that was one of the hardest bits, for me at least.”

Louis bites his lip.

“Louis is my best friend and it’s hard to see someone you’ve always laughed with and looked up to go from being the life and soul of the party to being someone completely different. And I love him to pieces, I really do, but he’s a stubborn old bugger sometimes. He’s definitely a little less willing to try new things and he’s become very much a creature of habit. I think it’s been more of a learning curve than either of us were ready for, and I think that’s also natural, but it’s been the hardest few years of my life. And sometimes I do wonder why this had to happen to Louis of all people, because we had such a great life together and it felt like that was only just beginning anyway.”

TV Harry takes a moment to compose himself before he continues. “And then I started to struggle with these ideas of whether _I_ was being selfish, you know, because suddenly everything is about Louis, which it _should_ be, but then I’m there in the background working my arse off, barely sleeping, doing absolutely everything from morning ‘til night and you never get to switch off, and I just want it to be about me for a minute.” He laughs hollowly. “There still is a stupid, selfish part of me that wants a little bit more recognition sometimes, because this essentially is a full-time job.”

Something uncomfortable curls in Louis’s stomach. “Haz…” he starts, but doesn’t get much further than that because TV Harry cuts him off.

“But then I think about the fact that I love Louis more than I love anything else in the world, and the fact that before this I’ve always taken for granted how easy it is to walk from my bedroom to the kitchen, and how easy it is to cook for myself and go for a wee myself and live an independent life all by myself and that brings me back to earth. Because I don’t need to be thanked for every little thing when part of the thanks comes from getting to still live with and be with the best person I’ve ever known.” TV Harry helps himself to another tissue that’s being offered to him off-screen. “Thank you. Sorry I’m crying, I just… It’s weird because I’ve had so many conflicting thoughts and emotions build up and build up over the past few years and I’ve never been able to properly verbalise it.” He snorts. “I still don’t think I’m doing a very good job of verbalising it.”

He sniffs and curls the tissue up in his fist. “But yeah, my point is it’s not easy and it’s never going to be easy. It’s hard living this life but I wouldn’t change it because in this life I have a great job, a great family and the man of my dreams; it just happens to be a little more unorthodox than most people’s.”

Louis wants to burrow himself into Harry’s arms and never let go.

“He ended up staying in the hospital for... I think it was nine months, on and off in total. It felt like years, I’m not gonna lie. But in that nine months we were able to completely renovate Robin’s bungalow, which is where we’ve been living ever since. We hired this amazing designer called Sarah, and because she was in a wheelchair herself she gave us such an insight into what little things that we may not even have thought of needed changing, so that was brilliant.”

“We took our one of the walls to make it a bigger, more open plan living space and kitchen area, and we also knocked through one of the bedroom walls so the master bedroom would be massive and there’d be a lot more space for the wheelchair. It was a project but I loved it because it felt so worthwhile and it was just such a boost to see this vision we’d had come to life.”

More photos pop up on the screen; one of them outside the bungalow having a barbeque with all the lads, one of them both posing by their Christmas tree the first Christmas they spent there, one of Louis with Lucy in his lap as they watch footie on the telly, and then a selfie taken by Harry of him and Louis curled up in their bed (thankfully family friendly).

“It’s always so wild to me when people ask me questions like ‘was it a difficult choice to stay with him?’ or something like that, because I don’t really know why you would ever think it was. Louis and I were together for five years before his accident, and suddenly, what, now he’s paralysed he’s what? More difficult to love?” He shakes his head. “It makes me so angry, honestly. If he’d been diagnosed with something like cancer and I’d walked away then I’d look like the worst person in the world. So why is this any different than any other chronic illness?”

A few more photos flash across the screen, this time seemingly more focused on them as a couple. There’s one of them doing physio together, Harry crouched down with his hands on Louis’s knees as he lifts weights; another has Harry carrying Louis bridal-style at some family wedding last year; there’s one of them curled up on Zayn and Liam’s sofa, Harry in Louis’s lap; a final one of them in suits and matching bow ties at one of Louis’s charity fundraisers a couple of years ago. That one remains the lockscreen on Harry’s phone, even to this day.

“And nothing makes me more upset and… well, offended, really, is when people tell me I’m so brave for sticking with him. It’s nothing to be brave about in my eyes, because all I’m doing is being a boyfriend and doing what I’d hope the other partners of people injured this way or who are suffering from chronic illnesses are doing. It literally breaks my heart to think there are people who think I could have walked away just because things got a little bit harder.”

“We do argue a bit more than we used to, which is something it took awhile for me to become okay with. I get upset and Louis gets angry, like, quite readily, and it’s always easy to take it out on the person closest to you, and that’s normal, innit?”

TV Harry shrugs. “And we have more to argue about now too, because he might want to do nothing and I want to do something and it’s not always easy to get that balance, so we row.” He shrugs again. “But then we get some perspective and we always make up within like an hour of it because we have this, like, mutual understanding going on now. We’re both frustrated and things about our situation will always be frustrating, but that’s also normal. I love him and he loves me and it’s not enough to break us.” He sniffs. “I don’t know if anything could break us at this point. I feel like there’s nothing else we could go through that we wouldn’t be able to face.”

The background music changes, fading from somber into something a little more upbeat.

“And these days Louis is doing so amazingly well. He’s gone from being shy and reserved in the days following his accident to being near enough his old self again. He’s bubbly and outgoing, he loves organising nights out and pub quiz days and we still go to watch the football on Thursdays even though he would flat out refuse to do those things a couple of years ago.”

New photos float onto the screen now - one in particular stands out to Louis, though, and that’s the one of him on Harry’s shoulders at the Not The Rolling Stones gig a couple of months ago. And he laughs, he has to, because so much has changed since then and that wasn’t even that long _ago,_ but everything has changed so much for the better. One quick glance at Real Life Harry tells him he’s thinking the exact same thing and his heart soars.

“I can’t quite believe it’s been three years now because it feels like everything has changed but nothing has changed at the same time. I’m still working and so is Louis, and we go on dates and see our friends and family and live fairly standard lives for two lads in their mid-twenties, it just so happens that one of us is in a wheelchair.” TV Harry shrugs. “It is what it is.”

Everyone in the room groans, even Louis.

“You goddamn sap,” Gemma crows, shaking at Harry’s shoulder. Harry swats at her but the smile he shoots over in Louis’s direction is proud and brilliant. Louis sticks his tongue out at him, but he’s smiling.

TV Harry coughs lightly into the back of his fist, bashful. “I, um… so when you’re watching this it’ll be about four months ago that I asked Louis to marry me,” he says, then he holds up his left hand and wiggles his fingers. Louis still isn’t over seeing a ring on Harry’s finger, even after all this time, and finds himself bouncing happily in his seat. Lottie jabs him with her elbow. “He said yes, obviously.”

“Awww,” Louis hears both his mum and Harry’s mum coo from behind him. He cranes his neck so he can stick his tongue out at her, but then he realises that what she was cooing at is Harry moving over from his seat to Louis’s seat, nudging Lottie out the way so he can plonk himself next to him. She grumbles but obediently moves over to Harry’s old seat, and Louis wonders briefly why they didn’t opt to sit together in the first place.

TV Harry is still babbling on about how their engagement but neither of them are paying attention anymore. “Hi,” Harry whispers, hooking his chin over Louis’s shoulder, his arms winding tight around his middle.

“Hi yourself.” Louis kisses Harry’s cheek. God, he wants to kiss him properly but now isn’t the time or the place, which is rude. “You’re on the telly.”

“I’m on the telly.” Harry lowers his voice a little. “Is that okay, what I’ve been saying? Like nothing you weren’t expecting?”

Louis tries not to roll his eyes but doesn’t quite manage it. Harry really is an idiot. “You’re an idiot.” He kisses him on the cheek again. “I was never gonna be annoyed at anything you said, I told you.” He uses Harry’s chest to straighten himself up a little so he can get a better view of the telly again, where TV Harry is now talking about their plans for the future. “Mostly I just think it’s funny that you’re as red in real life as you are on there.”

“Hey,” Harry grunts, digging his fingers into Louis’s sides, which nearly triggers a full blown spasm, but Louis’s laughing too much to care. “I am not that red.”

“You are that red, mate,” Liam says with a shit-eating grin, pointing to Harry on the screen again. His cheeks are still flushed, even though he’s only repeating some stuff he said earlier, and with everyone pointing and laughing it only serves to make Real Life Harry go even redder.

“You’re all bastards,” he hisses, hiding his hot face in Louis’s neck.

“Language,” Jay and Anne admonish at the same time, and everyone laughs harder. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s head and pretends to scowl at everyone, even though he’s still laughing himself.

“Leave the boy alone,” he says haughtily, trying and failing to sound properly stern. “It’s not easy being a television star.”

“Should have known you’d have been on his side,” Liam grumbles, which makes everyone laugh. Harry holds up his hand for Louis to fistbump. “Urgh, you two are gross.”

“Yeah, and can you guess which finger I’m trying to hold up?” Louis bites back, waving his fist in Liam’s direction. Liam just sighs.

“No, but in all seriousness, that was lovely, Harry,” Jay says, toddling over and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “What a really lovely representation of you.”

“Thank you,” Harry says quietly, unwinding his arm from around Louis to hug his mother-in-law back. “I’m glad you of all people thinks so.”

And once the teasing is all out of the way everyone is nothing but complementary, which is lovely. It’s always easy to make fun of a sappy couple - lord knows Louis rips the piss out of his friends enough for it - but there’s something to be said about them still being this in love after everything that’s happened, and it’s so nice that all those closest to them gets to see that side of it sometimes.

They watch it again, just the two of them, once everyone’s left, this time with Louis in Harry’s lap, a blanket wrapped around them. The curtains are drawn, the lights are down to low, and Louis feels safe and loved in Harry’s arms, but even more so than usual hearing the wonderful things that Harry felt comfortable telling the world about him and their relationship. It’s sappy and daft and there was no way he was going to say half the mushy stuff he’s been murmuring to Harry this past half hour while everyone else was around, but he feels content enough to do it like this. He feels like they’re the only two people in the world right now.

“It’s a funny thing, really,” he tells Harry once the credits are rolling. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and lets himself be pressed onto the sofa, Harry hovering above him. “This whole thing has, like…” He sighs, pausing for a second as he tries to find the words. Harry doesn’t interrupt him, just carries on looking at him with a soft, wonderful smile. “So there’s been so much, like, _shit,_ really, that’s happened to us these past few years.” Harry nods. “But with you it’s like… there’s so much of my life that’s uncertain to me still. Will I ever stand or walk again? Who knows? Will I get further in my career working from home? Dunno. But you?” He tucks a piece of Harry’s fringe behind his ear. “It’s nice to know I don’t ever have to worry about finding love or having someone find me attractive in my chair or anything like that.” He shrugs. “S’just nice, that’s all.”

“Nice,” Harry echoes, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Just nice that you’ve found the love of your life. _Nice._ ”

“Alright, dickhead, so I’m not the best with words.” Louis punches him in the nipple. “I’m trying to be disgusting and sappy after you’ve been so disgusting and sappy about me and this is the thanks I get?”

“No, the thanks you get is this,” Harry says, then starts kissing down his neck, loud, wet smooches that have Louis giggling. “Or not, alright then.”

“Sorry, baby, sorry,” Louis laughs, pulling him up so he can kiss his lips instead. They snog lazily for a bit, eventually slowing it down to gentle pecks, and when they do eventually pull apart Harry lies down so his head is resting on Louis’s chest. It’s nice and peaceful like this, and Louis thinks he could probably stay here for the rest of his days.

And then his tummy rumbles, which makes Harry jump and them both laugh.

“I’ll make you some toast, yeah?” he offers, raising his head up and resting his chin on Louis’s shoulder. “‘Cos I’m a _nice_ fiancé like that. And clearly I need to work my way up from being just nice to being your favourite or something.”

“Listen, you announced today on national television that you’re marrying me,” Louis says, tightening his grip around Harry’s neck to keep him in place. “You’re my favourite, like, pretty permanently.”

“For the rest of our lives, hm?” Harry asks, rubbing their noses together. His eyes are shining with fondness and love and awe, with unspoken promises, and Louis feels the same stupid butterflies he did way back when, when the strange lad with the long hair made a tit of himself on Louis’s football pitch and he couldn’t work out why he couldn’t kick him off the team.

“For the rest of our lives,” he echoes, then kisses him silly. He’s so in love he doesn’t know what to make of it sometimes, and he says a silent prayer to whatever deity was kind enough to give him the sweetest, most understanding, most gentle-hearted boy in the world.

A wheelchair is likely to be his forever but then again so is Harry.

And that means more than anything else ever has.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on twitter! I'm @lesbidirection!!


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